Thine is a face to look upon and pray
That a pure spirit keep thee. I would meet
With one so gentle by the streams away,
Living with nature; keeping thy pure feet
For the unfingered moss, and for the grass
Which leaneth where the gentle waters pass.
The autumn leaves should sigh thee to thy sleep,
And the capricious April, coming on,
Awake thee like a flower, and stars should keep
A vigil o’er thee like Endymion;
And thou for very gentleness shouldst weep,
As dew of the night’s quietness comes down.
I’ve praised thee, Genevieve! A dream of mine
Hath just such dark and shaded eyes as thine.