Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,—The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Your eyes smile peace.
The pasture gleams and glooms'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup-fields with silver
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.
Deep in the sun-searched growths the
Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky:—So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate
When twofold silence was the song of love.
