I.

“High as my heart!” Orlando answered thus, In careless Arden, Arden green to-day, Parrying with gallant wit the question gay Touching his lady’s stature. When of us Lips yet to be, in years lying yet before, Make question of the stature of thy fame, The words that we shall answer are the same: _High as our hearts he stood_. What man would more?

Wide-sunned with love thy last late winter days, Whose blue mild morns were memories of the spring. To thee spring voices had not ceased to sing, Nor ever closed to thee fresh woodland ways Where underneath old leaves the violets are, And, shy as boyhood’s dream, spring beauties like a star.