A Lebanon Idyl

About the middle of the morning-time,
From Zebadani's orchards, in the prime
Of their fair flowering, on an upward way,
I sauntered blithely; poppies sued "delay!"
And lupins, blue as are the Syrian skies,
Said to me "tarry!" with their pleading eyes.
Along the glade a little wind there came
Caressingly, with many a south-soft name
Upon its lips, and one sweet world-old tale, —
How love, despite all hindrance, will prevail.

So I went onward, musing many things;
And all about me flashed and flushed the spring's
Divine unfolding, —wave on blossom-wave
To where gaunt cliffs, with sharp escarpment, gave
A jostle to the pathway. Soon I saw
In the smooth-sweeping eastward slope a flaw,
A sudden hollowing, as though some force
Of under-earth upon its quaking course
Had here worked havoc. Striding to the edge,
I marked a spring close-girt by greening sedge,
And slim white poplars, each a swaying wand,
Beneath which sat two lovers hand in hand.
In her I viewed a budding vernal grace;
In him youth's fervor both in form and face;
She seemed as fresh as the anemone,
And he as supple as the willow tree.

Their talk ran low, as did the gurgle of
The hidden fountain, murmuring of love;
Look answered look, and vow replied to vow,
As did the bird-notes on the shielding bough;
And were there kisses? —soothly, who should doubt!
For what were love in Arcady without?
Where strayed her lambs? No tithe of heed gave she!
Where fed his goats? An unripe fig cared he!
And so they dreamed that paradise was won,
While over Lebanon climbed the morning sun.

Unseen I slipped away. Again mine ear
Heard the wind's burden, low but passion-clear,
Still voicing fondly the same world-old tale, —
How love, despite all hindrance, will prevail.