Under yonder beech-tree standing on the green sward,
Couched with her arms behind her little head,
Her knees folded up, and her tresses on her bosom,
Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her!
Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded slow,
Waking on the instant she could not but embrace me—...
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Fresh from the fountains of the wood
A rivulet of the valley came,
And glided on for many a rood,
Flushed with the morning’s ruddy flame.The air was fresh and soft and sweet;
The slopes in spring’s new verdure lay,
And wet with dew-drops at my feet
Bloomed the young violets of May.No sound of busy life was heard...