The book was dull, its pictures 
As leaden as its lore, 
But one glad, happy picture 
Made up for all and more: 
'Twas that of you, sweet peasant, 
Beside your grannie's door -- 
I never stopped so startled 
Inside a book before. 

Just so had I sat spell-bound, 
Quite still with staring eyes, 
If some great shiny hoopoe 
Or moth of song-bird size 
Had drifted to my window 
And trailed its fineries -- 
Just so had I been startled, 
Spelled with the same surprise. 

It pictured you when springtime 
In part had given place 
But not surrendered wholly 
To summer in your face; 
When still your slender body 
Was all a childish grace 
Though woman's richest glories 
Were building there apace. 

'Twas blissful so to see you, 
Yet not without a sigh 
I dwelt upon the people 
Who saw you not as I, 
But in your living sweetness, 
Beneath your native sky; 
Ah, bliss to be the people 
When you went tripping by! 

I sat there, thinking, wondering, 
Abut your life and home, 
The happy days behind you, 
The happy days to come, 
Your grannie in her corner, 
Upstairs the little room 
Where you wake up each morning 
To dream all day -- of Whom? 

That ring upon your finger, 
Who gave you that to wear? 
What blushing smith or farm lad 
Came stammering at your ear 
A million-time-told story 
No maid but burns to hear, 
And went about his labours 
Delighting in his dear! 

I thought of you sweet lovers, 
The things you say and do, 
The pouts and tears and partings 
And swearings to be true, 
The kissings in the barley -- 
You brazens, both of you! 
I nearly burst out crying 
With thinking of you two. 

It put me in a frenzy 
Of pleasure nearly pain, 
A host of blurry faces 
'Gan shaping in my brain, 
I shut my eyes to see them 
Come forward clear and plain, 
I saw them come full flower, 
And blur and fade again. 

One moment so I saw them, 
One sovereign moment so, 
A host of girlish faces 
All happy and aglow 
With Life and Love it dealt them 
Before it laid them low 
A hundred years, a thousand, 
Ten thousand years ago. 

One moment so I saw them 
Come back with time full tide, 
The host of girls, your grannies, 
Who lived and loved and died 
To give your mouth its beauty, 
Your soul its gentle pride, 
Who wrestled with the ages 
To give the world a bride.