Part 2 — THE MYSTIC
Reading edition
By seven vineyards on one hill We walked. The native wine In clusters grew beside us two, For your lips and for mine,
When, "Hark!" you said,—"Was that a bell Or a bubbling spring we heard?" But I was wise and closed my eyes And listened to a bird;
For as summer leaves are bent and shake With singers passing through, So moves in me continually The winged breath of you.
You tasted from a single vine And took from that your fill— But I inclined to every kind, All seven on one hill.
Witter Bynner [1881-