THE FOOTPATH.
Reading edition
You gave your hand to me, as through The low scrub-growth that spanned The Danes’ old tower, we caught anew The sharp salt-burdened breeze that blew Across the reach of sand.
Too proud! the grace you scorned to do, Where scarce your foot could stand;— ’Twas but from sheer fatigue, I knew, You gave your hand!
How well that scene comes back to view! Your cheeks’ faint roses fanned,— The gorge,—the twinkling seaward blue, The black boats on the strand; I gave you all my heart, and you— You gave your hand.