Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/38

 Into the world without; till close at hand, And almost ere I knew mine own intent, This murmur broke the stillness of that air Which brooded round about her: "Ah, one rose, One rose, but one, by those fair fingers cull'd, Were worth a hundred kisses press'd on lips Less exquisite than thine." She look'd: but all Suffused with blushes—neither self-possess'd Nor startled, but betwixt this mood and that, Divided in a graceful quiet—paused, And dropt the branch she held, and turning, wound Her looser hair in braid, and stirr'd her lips For some sweet answer, though no answer came, Nor yet refused the rose, but granted it, And moved away, and left me, statue-like, In act to render thanks. I, that whole day, Saw her no more, although I linger'd there Till every daisy slept, and Love's white star Beam'd thro' the thicken'd cedar in the dusk.