| |
| I SAT with Doris, the shepherd-maiden; | |
| Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers: | |
| I sat and woo’d her, through sunlight wheeling | |
| And shadows stealing, for hours and hours. | |
| |
| And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses | 5 |
| Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume, | |
| The while I sued her, kept hush’d and hearken’d, | |
| Till shades had darken’d from gloss to gloom. | |
| |
| She touch’d my shoulder with fearful finger; | |
| She said, “We linger, we must not stay: | 10 |
| My flock ’s in danger, my sheep will wander; | |
| Behold them yonder, how far they stray!” | |
| |
| I answer’d bolder, “Nay, let me hear you, | |
| And still be near you, and still adore! | |
| No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling: | 15 |
| Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more!” | |
| |
| She whisper’d, sighing, “There will be sorrow | |
| Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; | |
| My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, | |
| I shall be scolded and sent away.” | 20 |
| |
| Said I, denying, “If they do miss you, | |
| They ought to kiss you when you get home; | |
| And well rewarded by friend and neighbor | |
| Should be the labor from which you come.” | |
| |
| “They might remember,” she answer’d meekly, | 25 |
| “That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild; | |
| But if they love me, it ’s none so fervent: | |
| I am a servant, and not a child.” | |
| |
| Then each hot ember glow’d within me, | |
| And love did win me to swift reply: | 30 |
| “Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you, | |
| Nor fray nor find you, until I die.” | |
| |
| She blush’d and started, and stood awaiting, | |
| As if debating in dreams divine; | |
| But I did brave them; I told her plainly | 35 |
| She doubted vainly, she must be mine. | |
| |
| So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley | |
| Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; | |
| And homeward drave them, we two together, | |
| Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. | 40 |
| |
| That simple duty fresh grace did lend her, | |
| My Doris tender, my Doris true; | |
| That I, her warder, did always bless her, | |
| And often press her to take her due. | |
| |
| And now in beauty she fills my dwelling, | 45 |
| With love excelling, and undefil’d; | |
| And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, | |
| No more a servant, nor yet a child. | |
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