Through ferns and moss the path wound to
A hollow where the touchmenots
Swung horns of honey filled with dew;
And where--like foot-prints--violets blue
And bluets made sweet sapphire blots,
'Twas there that she had passed he knew.
The grass, the very wilderness
On either side, breathed rapture of
Her passage: 'twas her hand or dress
That touched some tree--a slight caress--
That made the wood-birds sing above;
Her step that made the flowers up-press.
He hurried, till across his way,
Foam-footed, bounding through the wood,
A brook, like some wild girl at play,
Went laughing loud its roundelay;
And there upon its bank she stood,
A sunbeam clad in woodland gray.
And when she saw him, all her face
Grew to a wildrose by the stream;
And to his breast a moment's space
He gathered her; and all the place
Seemed conscious of some happy dream
Come true to add to Earth its grace.
Some joy, on which Heav'n was intent--
For which God made the world--the bliss,
The love, that raised her innocent
Pure face to his that, smiling, bent
And sealed confession with a kiss--
Life needs no other testament.
