Solicitous, as the shadows in the meadow.
Laying under the beech-tree on the greensward,
Couched with her arms behind her bronzed head,
Knees and tresses folded to slip, ripple indolently

Lies Ofee, my love, sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her,
Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow,
Waking in amazement she could only embrace me:
Hence would we hold each other and never let go?

Last night I saw her smile before the oval mirror,
Tying up her laces, looping up her curly hair,
Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded,
More love should I have, and much more care.
Pixyish glance tends her before the dazed mirror,
Loosening her laces, brushing her bronze curls,
Often, I think, were this wild thing enmeshed?
Never would I miss this sight, for any night or day.

Thespian