“From when she gamboll’d on the greens, A baby-germ, to when The maiden blossoms of her teens Could number five from ten. “I swear, by leaf, and wind, and rain (And hear me with thine ears), That, tho’ I circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years— “Yet, since I first could cast a shade, Did never creature pass So slightly, musically made, So light upon the grass: “For as to fairies, that will flit To make the greensward fresh, I hold them exquisitely knit, But far too spare of flesh.” Oh, hide thy knotted knees in fern, And overlook the chace; And from thy topmost branch discern The roofs of Sumner-place. But thou, whereon I carved her name, That oft hast heard my vows, Declare when last Olivia came To sport beneath thy boughs. “O yesterday, you know, the fair Was holden at the town; Her father left his good arm-chair, And rode his hunter down. “And with him Albert came on his. I look’d at him with joy: As cowslip unto oxlip is, So seems she to the boy. “An hour had past—and, sitting straight Within the low-wheel’d chaise, Her mother trundled to the gate Behind the dappled grays. “But, as for her, she stay’d[3] at home, And on the roof she went, And down the way you use to come, She look’d with discontent. “She left the novel half-uncut Upon the rosewood shelf; She left the new piano shut: She could not please herself. “Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, And livelier than a lark She sent her voice thro’ all the holt Before her, and the park. “A light wind chased her on the wing, And in the chase grew wild, As close as might be would he cling About the darling child: “But light as any wind that blows So fleetly did she stir, The flower she touch’d on dipt and rose, And turn’d to look at her. “And here she came, and round me play’d, And sang to me the whole Of those three stanzas that you made About my ‘giant bole’; “And in a fit of frolic mirth She strove to span my waist: Alas, I was so broad of girth, I could not be embraced. “I wish’d myself the fair young beech That here beside me stands, That round me, clasping each in each, She might have lock’d her hands. “Yet seem’d the pressure thrice as sweet As woodbine’s fragile hold, Or when I feel about my feet The berried briony fold.” O muffle round thy knees with fern, And shadow Sumner-chace! Long may thy topmost branch discern The roofs of Sumner-place! But tell me, did she read the name I carved with many vows When last with throbbing heart I came To rest beneath thy boughs? “O yes, she wander’d round and round These knotted knees of mine, And found, and kiss’d the name she found, And sweetly murmur’d thine. “A teardrop trembled from its source, And down my surface crept. My sense of touch is something coarse, But I believe she wept. “Then flush’d her cheek with rosy light, She glanced across the plain; But not a creature was in sight: She kiss’d me once again.