All I can say is—I saw it!
The room was as bare as your hand.
I locked in the swarth little lady,—I swear,
From the head to the foot of her—well,
quite as bare!
“No Nautch° shall cheat me,” said I, “taking
my stand °5
At this bolt which I draw!” And this bolt—I
withdraw it,
And there laughs the lady, not bare, but embowered
With—who knows what verdure, o’erfruited,
o’erflowered?
Impossible! Only—I saw it!
All I can sing is—I feel it!
10
This life was as blank as that room;
I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed?
Walls, ceiling, and floor,—not a chance
for a weed!
Wide opens the entrance: where’s cold,
now, where’s gloom?
No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it,
Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing,
These fruits of your bearing—nay, birds
of your winging!
A fairy-tale! Only—I feel it!
* * * *
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