Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/182

 As when a mother doth explore
 * The rose-mark on her long lost child,
 * I met, I lov'd you, maiden mild!

As whom I long had lov'd before—
 * So deeply had I been beguil'd.

You stood before me like a thought,
 * A dream remember'd in a dream.
 * But when those meek eyes first did seem

To tell me, Love within you wrought—
 * O Greta, dear domestic stream!

Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
 * Has not Love's whisper evermore,
 * Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar?

Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
 * Dear under-song in Clamor's hour.