To a Greek Girl

With breath of thyme and bees that hum,
Across the years you seem to come, —
Across the years with nymph-like head,
And wind-blown brows unfilleted;
A girlish shape that slips the bud
In lines of unspoiled symmetry;
A girlish shape that stirs the blood
With pulse of Spring, Autonoe!

Where'er you pass, — where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
"Where'er you go, — where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;
You bring blithe airs where'er you tread, —
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea;
You wake in me a Pan not dead, —
Not wholly dead!— Autonoe!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreathe the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;
To watch across the stricken chords
Your rosy-twinkling fingers flee;
To woo you in soft woodland words,
With woodland pipe, Autonoe!

In vain, — in vain! The years divide:
Where Thamis rolls a murky tide,
I sit and fill my painful reams,
And see you only in my dreams; —
A vision, like Alcestis, brought
From under-lands of Memory, —
A dream of Form in days of Thought, —
A dream,— a dream, Autonoe!