He dances divinely, and walks with an air
Half autocratic and half debonair,
With something about him no words can define:
Eve, was your hero as handsome as mine?
And oh! the years that pass'd over my head
When I was leisurely growing or grown;
And oh! the minutes that suddenly led
To the sweetest thought that ever was known.
Only one glad little glance that I gave,
Where by the window the passion-flower grew,
And a strong man was turn'd into a slave,
Watching and waiting for all that I do.
And a strong man's heart beat only for me--
Only for me while it answers life's call;
Till _I_ was compell'd to hear and to see;
And only one little look did it all!
Oh, such an infinitesimal thing!
One unthought-of minute hurrying by,
And the whole of two lives yet in their spring
Are utterly chang'd for ever and aye!
If with idle heart and with careless eyes
I had not happened just there and just then
To smile at a flower beneath the skies,
Should I never have lov'd the first of men?
Had he seen me first in a festal hour,
Or riding, or driving, or by the sea,
And not with a smile for the passion-flower,
Would he never, never have cared for me?
Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd?
Who water'd below or cherish'd above?
Is it the work of a gardener's hand
That causes my Harry and me to love?
Had that gardener never been born or hir'd,
Or done this one insignificant thing;
Had the passion-flower died;--my heart is tir'd
With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring;
And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears,
And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen,
As I see the empty unhappy years,
And I think of all that might _not_ have been.
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