I love you, pretty maid, for you are young

I love you, pretty maid, for you are young:
I love you, pretty maid, for you are fair:
I love you, pretty maid, for you love me.
They tell me that, a babe, smiling you gazed
Upon the stars, with open, asking eyes,

And tremulous lips apart. Erelong, self-taught,
You found for every star and every flower
Legends and names and fables sweet and new.
I, since I loved you, am grown half immortal!
O that when far away I still might see thee!

How oft when wearied with the din of life
On thee mine eyes would rest, thy Grecian heavens
Brightening that orbed brow!
Hesper should shine upon thee — lamp of Love,
Beneath whose radiance thou wert born. — O Hesper!

Thee will I love and reverence evermore.
Bind up that shining hair into a knot,
And let me see that polished neck of thine
Uprising from the bed snow-soft, snow-white
In which it rests so gracefully! What God

Hath drawn upon thy forehead's ivory plane
Those two clear streaks of sweet and glistening black,
Lifted in earnest mirth or lovely awe?
Open those Pleiad eyes, liquid and tender,
And let me lose myself among their depths!

Caress me with thine infant hands, and tell me
Old tales divine that love makes ever new
Of Gods and men entoiled in flowery nets,
Of heroes sighing all their youth away,
And which the fairest flower of Venus' isle.

Come forth, dear maid, the day is calm and cool,
And bright though sunless. Like a long green scarf,
The tall Pines crowning yon grey promontory
In distant ether hang, and cut the sea.
But lovers better love the dell, for there

Each is the other's world. — How indolently
The tops of those pale poplars bend and sway
Over the violet-braided river brim!
Whence comes their motion, for no wind is heard,
And the long grasses move not, nor the reeds?

Here we will sit, and watch the rushes lean
Like locks, along the leaden-coloured stream
Far off; and thou, O child, shalt talk to me
Of Naiads and their loves. A blissful life
They lead, who live beneath the flowing waters:

They cherish calm, and think the sea-weeds fair;
They love to sleek their tresses in the sun;
They love each other's beauty; love to stand
Among the lilies, holding back their tresses
And listening, with their gentle cheek reclined

Upon the flood, to some sweet melody
Of Pan or shepherd piping in lone woods,
Until the unconscious tears run down their face.
Mild are their loves, nor burdensome their thoughts —
And would that such a life were mine and thine!