Atthis, my darling, thou did'st stray


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    ATTHIS, my darling, thou did'st stray 
    A few feet to the rushy bed, 
    When a great fear and passion shook 
    My heart lest haply thou wert dead ; 
    It grew so still about the brook, 
    As if a soul were drawn away. 

    Anon thy clear eyes, silver-blue, 
    Shone through the tamarisk-branches fine ; 
    To pluck me iris thou had'st sprung 
    Through galingale and celandine ; 
    Away, away, the flowers I flung 
    And thee down to my breast I drew. 

    My darling ! Nay, our very breath 
    Nor light nor darkness shall divide ; 
    Queen Dawn shall find us on one bed, 
    Nor must thou flutter from my side 
    An instant, lest I feel the dread, 
    Atthis, the immanence of death.