She meets me there, so strangely fair
That my soul aches with a happy pain;—
A pressure, a touch of her true lips, such
As a seraph might give and take again;
A hurried whisper, "Adieu! adieu!
...
|
When Summer o'er her native hills |
Attraction is a curious power, |
"North and South too many an hour |
1.1 |