A Pastoral
MY love and I among the mountains strayed,
When heaven and earth in summer heat were still,
Aware anon that at our feet were laid,
Within a sunny hollow of the hill,
A long-haired shepherd lover and a maid.
They saw nor heard us, who a space above,
With hands clasped close as hers were clasped in his,
Marked how the gentle golden sunlight strove
To play about their leaf-crowned curls, and kiss
Their burnished slender limbs, half-barèd to his love.
But grave or pensive seemed the boy to grow,
For while upon the grass unfingered lay
The slim twin-pipes, he ever watched with slow
Dream-laden looks the ridge that far away
Surmounts the sleeping midsummer with snow.
These things we saw; moreover we could hear
The girl’s soft voice of laughter, grown more bold
With the utter noonday silence, sweet and clear:
“Why dost thou think? By thinking one grows old.
Wouldst thou for all the world be old, my dear?”
Here my love turned to me, but her eyes told
Her thought with smiles before she spoke a word;
And being quick their meaning to behold,
I could not chuse but echo what we heard:
“Sweetheart, wouldst thou for all the world be old?”
J. B. B. Nichols.