To Mary

As in the calmest day the pine-tree gives
A soft low murmur to the wooing wind,
When other trees are silent–so love lives
In the close covert of the loftier mind,
Responding to the gentlest sigh would wake
Love’s answer, and his magic music make.

‘Twas thus I woo’d thee–softly and afraid:
For no rude breath could win response from thee,
Mine own retiring, timid, bashful maid;
And hence I dedicate the slender tree
To dearest memories of the tenting fine
I woo’d thee with–as Zephyr woos the pine.

And hence I love with thee through woods to wander,
Whose fairy flowers thy slight foot scarcely bends,
Growing, as time steals o’er us, only fonder,
Following, mayhap, some streamlet as it tends
To a lone lake–full as our hearts, and calm,
O’er which the op’ning summer sheds its balm.

Soft is the breeze;–so soft–the very lake
Hath not a ripple on its mirror face;
And hence, a double beauty doth it make,
Another forest in its depths we trace,
The sky’s repeated in reflected kiss:–
So loving hearts can double ev’ry bliss.

The sun is high–we seek refreshing shade,
Beneath the pines we choose a flowery seat;
And, while a whisper in their boughs is made,
Couching, with fondness, at thy tiny feet,
I’ll whisper thee, while sheltering from the sun–
“Sweet Mary, thus I woo’d thee, thus I won.”