On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear 
   I lay, and spread your hair on either side, 
   And see the newborn woodflowers bashful-eyed 
Look through the golden tresses here and there. 
On these debateable borders of the year 
   Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know 
   The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow; 
And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear. 

But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day; 
   So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss 
Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray, 
   Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this 
   Is even the hour of Love's sworn suitservice, 
With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.