Not as in youth, with steps outspeeding morn, <br />And cheeks all bright from rapture of the way, <br />But in strange mood, half cheerful, half forlorn, <br />She comes to me to-day. <br /> <br />Does she forget the trysts we used to keep, <br />When dead leaves rustled on autumnal ground? <br />Or the lone garret, whence she banished sleep <br />With threats of silver sound? <br /> <br />Does she forget how shone the happy eyes <br />When they beheld her?--how the eager tongue <br />Plied its swift oar through wave-like harmonies, <br />To reach her where she sung? <br /> <br />How at her sacred feet I cast me down? <br />How she upraised me to her bosom fair, <br />And from her garland shred the first light crown <br />That ever pressed my hair? <br /> <br />Though dust is on the leaves, her breath will bring <br />Their freshness back: why lingers she so long? <br />The pulseless air is waiting for her wing, <br />Dumb with unuttered song. <br /> <br />If tender doubt delay her on the road, <br />Oh let her haste, to find that doubt belied! <br />If shame for love unworthily bestowed, <br />That shame shall melt in pride. <br /> <br />If she but smile, the crystal calm will break <br />In music, sweeter than it ever gave, <br />As when a breeze breathes o'er some sleeping lake <br />And laughs in every wave. <br /> <br />The ripples of awakened song shall die <br />Kissing her feet, and woo her not in vain, <br />Until, as once, upon her breast I lie, <br />Pardoned and loved again.<br /><br />James Bayard Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-return-of-the-goddess/
