XII.

With their soft eyes of love and gladness raised Up to the flushing sky, as when we stood Last by that river, and in silence gazed On the rich world of sunset. But a flood Of sudden tenderness my soul oppress’d; And I rush’d forward, with a yearning breast, To clasp--alas!--a vision! Wave and wood, And gentle faces, lifted in the light Of day’s last hectic blush, all melted from my sight.