XVI
In the apple boughs the coolness
Murmurs, and the grey leaves flicker
Where sleep wanders.
In this garden all the hot noon
I await thy fluttering footfall
Through the twilight.
XVII
Pale rose leaves have fallen
In the fountain water;
And soft reedy flute-notes
Pierce the sultry quiet.
But I wait and listen,
Till the trodden gravel
Tells me, all impatience,
It is Phaon’s footstep.
XVIII
The courtyard of her house is wide
And cool and still when day departs.
Only the rustle of leaves is there
And running water.
And then her mouth, more delicate
Than the frail wood-anemone,
Brushes my cheek, and deeper grow
The purple shadows.