WITH breath of thyme and bees that hum, <br />Across the years you seem to come,— <br />Across the years with nymph-like head, <br />And wind-blown brows unfilleted; <br />A girlish shape that slips the bud <br />In lines of unspoiled symmetry; <br />A girlish shape that stirs the blood <br />With pulse of Spring, Autonoe! <br /> <br />Where’er you pass,—where’er you go, <br />I hear the pebbly rillet flow; <br />Where’er you go,—where’er you pass, <br />There comes a gladness on the grass; <br />You bring blithe airs where’er you tread,— <br />Blithe airs that blow from down and sea; <br />You wake in me a Pan not dead,— <br />Not wholly dead!—Autonoe! <br /> <br />How sweet with you on some green sod <br />To wreathe the rustic garden-god; <br />How sweet beneath the chestnut’s shade <br />With you to weave a basket-braid; <br />To watch across the stricken chords <br />Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee; <br />To woo you in soft woodland words, <br />With woodland pipe, Autonoe! <br /> <br />In vain,—in vain! The years divide: <br />Where Thames rolls a murky tide, <br />I sit and fill my painful reams, <br />And see you only in my dreams;— <br />A vision, like Alcestis, brought <br />From under-lands of Memory,— <br />A dream of Form in days of Thought,— <br />A dream,—a dream, Autonoe!<br /><br />Henry Austin Dobson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-greek-girl-2/
