Page:Poetical works of Mathilde Blind.djvu/466

440 No shadow of the coming days durst blot,

The flower-like face, so innocently fair,

As lip met lip, and lily arms, all bare,

Clung round him in a perfect lover's knot.

Was not this Anne the flame-like daffodil

Of Shakespeare's March, whose maiden beauty took

His senses captive? Thus the stripling brook

Mirrors a wild flower nodding by the mill,

Then grows a river in which proud cities look.

And with a land's load widens seaward still.

III.-CLEVE WOODS.