Lovers

They sit within a woodland place,

Trellised with rustling light and shade;

So like a spirit is her face

That he is half afraid

To speak - lest she should fade.

Mysterious, beneath the boughs,

Like two enchanted shapes, they are,

Whom Love hath builded them a house

Of little leaf and star,

And the brown evening jar.

So lovely and so strange a thing

Each is to each to look upon,

They dare not hearken a bird sing,

Or from the other one

Take eyes - lest they be gone.

So still - the watching woodland peers

And pecks about them, butterflies

Light on her hand - a flower; eve hears

Two questions, two replies -

O love that never dies!