Duddingstone

WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods

In this thin sun rejoice.

The Psalm seems but the little kirk

That sings with its own voice.

The cloud-rifts share their amber light

With the surface of the mere —

I think the very stones are glad

To feel each other near.

Once more my whole heart leaps and swells

And gushes o’er with glee;

The fingers of the sun and shade

Touch music stops in me.

Now fancy paints that bygone day

When you were here, my fair —

The whole lake rang with rapid skates

In the windless winter air.

You leaned to me, I leaned to you,

Our course was smooth as flight —

We steered — a heel-touch to the left,

A heel-touch to the right.

We swung our way through flying men,

Your hand lay fast in mine:

We saw the shifting crowd dispart,

The level ice-reach shine.

I swear by yon swan-travelled lake,

By yon calm hill above,

I swear had we been drowned that day

We had been drowned in love.