Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 1. 5. Love Grown Bold

This is her picture painted ere mine eyes
     ⁠Her ever holy face had looked upon.
     ⁠She sitteth in a silence of her own;
⁠     Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies;
Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise
⁠     Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown
     ⁠Her firm hands hide from her; there all alone
⁠     She sitteth in thought-trouble, maidenwise.
And now her lover waiting wondereth
⁠     Whether the joy of joys is drawing near;
⁠     Shall his brave fingers like a tender breath
That shut book open for her, wide and clear?
     ⁠From him who her sweet shadow worshipeth
     ⁠Now will she take the rose, and hold it dear?