Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley).djvu/20

6 And therefore sternly did refuse To link me with the infamy Of one so lost as Helen. Now Bewildered by my dire despair, Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Should'st love me still,—thou only!—There, Let us sit on that grey stone, Till our mournful talk be done.

Alas! not there; I cannot bear The murmur of this lake to hear. A sound from thee, Rosalind dear, Which never yet I heard elsewhere But in our native land, recurs, Even here where now we meet. It stirs Too much of suffocating sorrow! In the dell of yon dark chesnut wood Is a stone seat, a solitude Less like our own. The ghost of peace Will not desert this spot. To-morrow,