At this, my darling, thou did'st stray

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AT THIS, 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.