Doris: A Pastoral

I Sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden;   Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers: I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling   And shadows stealing, for hours and hours. And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses   Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume, The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,   Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;   She said, “We linger, we must not stay: My flock ’s in danger, my sheep will wander;   Behold them yonder, how far they stray!” I answered bolder, “Nay, let me hear you,   And still be near you, and still adore! No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:   Ah! stay my darling, a moment more!” She whispered, sighing, “There will be sorrow   Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,   I shall be scolded and sent away.” Said I, denying, “If they do miss you,   They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor   Should be the labor from which you come.” “They might remember,” she answered meekly,   “That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild; But if they love me, it ’s none so fervent:   I am a servant, and not a child.” Then each hot ember glowed within me,   And love did win me to swift reply: “Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,   Nor fray nor find you, until I die.” She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,   As if debating in dreams divine; But I did brave them; I told her plainly   She doubted vainly, she must be mine. So we twin-hearted, from all the valley   Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; And homeward drave them, we two together,   Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. That simple duty fresh grace did lend her,   My Doris tender, my Doris true; That I, her warder, did always bless her,   And often press her to take her due. And now in beauty she fills my dwelling,   With love excelling, and undefined; And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,   No more a servant, nor yet a child.