They sit within a woodland place,
Trellised with rustling light and shade;
So like a spirit is her face
That he is half afraid
To speak--lest she should fade.
Mysterious, beneath the boughs,
Like two enchanted shapes, they are,
Whom Love hath builded them a house
Of little leaf and star,
And the brown evening jar.
So lovely and so strange a thing
Each is to each to look upon,
They dare not hearken a bird sing,
Or from the other one
Take eyes--lest they be gone.
So still--the watching woodland peers
And pecks about them, butterflies
Light on her hand--a flower; eve hears
Two questions, two replies--
O love that never dies!