Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/296



walks like one enchanted, Whose soul is held in thrall, By some sweet presence haunted Who passed unseen by all.

He speaks as half-forgetting The hearers that are by, He sighs as though regretting Some dear and soft reply.

It is a lover's rapture. Naught doth he see or hear, His heart is held in capture Unto some mistress dear.