III by a River
By red-ripe mouth and brown, luxurious eyesOf her I love, by all your sweetness shedIn far, fair days, on one whose memory fliesTo faithless lights, and gracious speech gainsaid,I pray you, when yon river-path I tread,Make with the woodlands some soft compromise,Lest they should vex me into fruitless sighsWith visions of a woman’s gleaming head!For every green and golden-hearted thingThat gathers beauty in that shining place,Beloved of beams and wooed by wind and wing,Is rife with glimpses of her marvellous face;And in the whispers of the lips of SpringThe music of her lute-like voice I trace.