LXII

THERE is a lovely avenue of trees, That winds its way o’er many a meadow-land, And leads in time to the salt sea and sand, Where I have walked and felt the summer breeze Waft the sweet air that fans with perfect ease The trembling leaves, the ferns on every hand; A place wherein might sport some fairy band, And in their gaiety my fancy seize. In some such place would I find love awaiting, Ready to guide me by the trickling brooks, And lead me to some soft and rustic lair. With thee, my well-beloved, would I be mating (Like birds in springtime ’neath the shaded nooks), The vision of thy love to my despair!