Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

‘The myrtle bush grew shady
Down by the ford.’
‘Is it even so?’ said my lady.
‘Even so!’ said my lord.
‘The leaves are set too thick together
For the point of a sword.

‘The arras in your room hangs close,

No more alone sleeping, no more alone waking,
Thy dreams divided, thy prayers in twain;
Thy merry sisters tonight forsaking,
Never shall we see, maiden, again.

Never shall we see thee, thine eyes glancing.
Flashing with laughter and wild in glee,
Under the mistletoe kissing and dancing,
Wantonly free.

The clouds had made a crimson crown
Above the mountains high.
The stormy sun was going down
In a stormy sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,
And hold your breath between?
In all the ages this can never be