‘Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?’
‘One who loved me passing well.
Dark his eye, wild his face--
Stranger, if in this lonely place
Bide such an one, then, prythee, say
_I_ am come here to-day.’
‘Many his like, Mistress Fell?’
‘I did not look, so cannot tell.
Only this I surely know,
When his voice called me, I must go;
Touched me his fingers, and my heart
Leapt at the sweet pain’s smart.’
‘Why did he leave you, Mistress Fell?’
‘Magic laid its dreary spell.--
Stranger, he was fast asleep;
Into his dream I tried to creep;
Called his name, soft was my cry:
He answered--not one sigh.
‘The flower and the thorn are here;
Falleth the night-dew, cold and clear;
Out of her bower the bird replies,
Mocking the dark with ecstasies:
See how the earth’s green grass doth grow,
Praising what sleeps below!
‘Thus have they told me. And I come,
As flies the wounded wild-bird home.
Not tears I give; but all that he
Clasped in his arms sweet charity;
All that he loved--to him I bring
For a close whispering.’