I <br /> <br />How warm this woodland wild Recess ! <br /> Love surely hath been breathing here ; <br /> And this sweet bed of heath, my dear ! <br />Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, <br /> As if to have you yet more near. <br /> <br /> II <br /> <br />Eight springs have flown, since last I lay <br /> On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, <br /> Where quiet sounds from hidden rills <br />Float hear and there, like things astray, <br /> And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills. <br /> <br /> III <br /> <br />No voice as yet had made the air <br /> Be music with your name ; yet why <br /> That asking look ? that yearning sigh ? <br />That sense of promise every where ? <br /> Belovéd ! flew your spirit by ? <br /> <br /> IV <br /> <br />As when a mother doth explore <br /> The rose-mark on her long-lost child, <br /> I met, I loved you, maiden mild ! <br />As whom I long had loved before-- <br /> So deeply had I been beguiled. <br /> <br /> V <br /> <br />You stood before me like a thought, <br /> A dream remembered in a dream. <br /> But when those meek eyes first did seem <br />To tell me, Love within you wrought-- <br /> O Greta, dear domestic stream ! <br /> <br /> VI <br /> <br />Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, <br /> Has not Love's whisper evermore <br /> Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar ? <br />Sole voice, when other voices sleep, <br /> Dear under-song in clamor's hour.<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/recollections-of-love/
