Originally published in Leigh Hunt's Journal (Edward Moxon) vol.2 #8 (25 Jan 1851).
Bud and leaflet, opening slowly
Woo'd with tears by winds of spring,
Now, of June persuaded wholly,
Shades and odours fling.
Evey in the linden alley
All alone I met to-day,
Tripping to the sunny valley
Spread with new-mown hay.
With her gold hair, sunbeam-sainted
When her cheek, too, caught the flush;
And her soft eyes as though painted
With a soft brown brush.
Through the leaves a careless comer,
Never nymph of fount or tree
Could have pressed the floor of summer
Lightlier than she.
Half too fair to speak I thought her,
Till the happy silence broke,
Clear and sweet as dropping water,
Into words she spoke.
Timid words; yet like a sister
Trustfully she looked and smiled:
In my secret soul I kissed her
As I would a child.
Shadows, which are not of sadness,
Touch her eyes, and brow above:
As pale wild roses dream of redness,
Dreams her heart of love.