Your face was flushed; your eyes were bright. The moon hung like a shell of light Above the lake, above the trees: And borne to us with fragrances Of roses that were ripe to fall, The soul of music from the hall Beat in the moonlight and the breeze, As youth's wild heart grown weary of Desire and its dream of love. I held your arm and, for awhile, We walked along the balmy aisle Of flowers that, like velvet, dips Unto the lake which lilies tile Like stars; and hyacinths, like strips Of heaven: and beside a fall, That, down a ferned and mossy wall, Fell in the lake,--deep, woodbine-wound, A latticed summer-house we found; A green kiosk,--through which the sound Of waters and of breezes swayed, And honeysuckle bugles played Soft serenades of perfume sweet,-- Around which ran a rustic seat. And seated in that haunted nook,-- I know not how it was,--a word, A touch, perhaps, a sigh, a look, Was father to the kiss I took; Great things grow out of small I've heard. And then it was I took between My hands your face, loved Geraldine, And gazed into your eyes, and told The story ever new though old. You did not look away, but met My eyes with eyes whose lids were wet With tears of truth; and you did lean Your cheek to mine, sweet Geraldine,-- I never dreamed you would forget. The night-wind and the water sighed: And through the leaves, that stirred above, The moonbeams swooned with music of The dance--soft things in league with love: I never dreamed that you had lied. How all comes back now, Geraldine! The melody; the glimmering scene; Your angel face; and ev'n, between Your lawny breasts, the heart-shaped jewel,-- To which your breath gave fluctuant fuel,-- A rosy star of stormy fire; The snowy drift of your attire, Lace-deep and fragrant: and your hair, Disordered in the dance, held back By one gemmed pin,--a moonbeam there, Half-drowned within its night-like black. And I who sat beside you then, Seemed blessed above all mortal men. I loved you for the way you sighed; The way you said, "I love but you;" The smile with which your lips replied; Your lips, that from my bosom drew The soul; your looks, like undenied Caresses, that seemed naught but true: I loved you for the violet scent That clung about you as a flower; Your moods, where shine and shadow blent, An April-tide of sun and shower; You were my creed, my testament, Wherein I read of God's high power. Was it because the loving see Only what they desire shall be There in the well-belovéd's soul, Affection and affinity, That I beheld in you the whole Of my love's image? and believed You loved as I did? nor perceived 'T was but a mask, a mockery!