Three Sonnets on Sorrow, 1

A child, with mystic eyes and flowing hair,
I saw her first, 'mid flowers that shared her grace;
Though but a boy, I cried, " How fair a face!"
And, coming nearer, told her she was fair.
She faintly smiled, yet did not say " Forbear!"
But seemed to take a pleasure in my praise.
She led my steps through many a leafy place,
And pointed where shy birds and sweet flowers were.

At length we stood upon a brooklet's brink, —
I seem to hear its sources babbling yet, — -
She gave me water from her hand to drink,
The while her eyes upon its flow were set.
"Thy name? " I asked; she whispered low, " Regret,"
Then faded, as the sun began to sink.