Hand clasped in hand, shoulder on shoulder laid, With sense of something ventured, something missed, Our two lips parted, each; no word was said, And silently we kissed. Around us blue-bell and shy violet Their simple incense seemed to wave on high; Surely we saw, with glances heavenward set, God smiling from his azure balcony. "Love on!" he seemed to say, "I make more sweet The road of life you are to wander by, Spreading the velvet moss beneath your feet; Kiss, if you will; I shall not play the spy." Love on, love on! In murmurs of the breeze, In limpid stream, and in the woodland screen That burgeons fresh in the renovated green, In stars, in flowers, and music of the trees, Love on, love on! But if my golden sun, My spring, that comes once more to gladden earth, If these should move your breasts to grateful mirth, I ask no thanksgiving, your kiss is one. A month passed by; and, when the roses bloomed In beds that we had planted in the spring, When least of all I thought my love was doomed, You cast it from you like a noisome thing. Not that your scorn was all reserved for me, It flies about the world by fits and starts; Your changeful fancy fits impartially From knave of diamonds to knave of hearts. And now you are happy, with a brilliant suite Of bowing slaves and insincere gallants; Go where you will, you see them at your feet; A bed of perfumed posies round you flaunts: The Ball's your garden: an admiring globe Of lovers rolls about the lit saloon, And, at the rustling of your silken robe, The pack, in chorus, bay you like the moon. Shod in the softness of a supple boot Which Cinderella would have found too small, One scarcely sees your little pointed foot Flash in the flashing circle of the Ball. Shod in the softness of a supple boot Which Cinderella would have found too small, One scarcely sees your little pointed foot Flash in the flashing circle of the Ball. In the soft baths that indolence has brought Your once brown hands have got the ivory white, The pallor of the lily which has caught The silver moonbeam of a summer night: On your white arm half clouded, and half clear, Pearls shine in bracelets made of chiselled gold; On your trim waist a shawl of true Cashmere Aesthetically falls in waving fold: