Can language paint the soul in those blue eyes
Can fancy read the feelings painted there
— Those hills of snow that on her bosom lies
Or beauty speak for all those sweet replies
That through loves visions like the sun is breaking
Wakeing new hopes & fears & stifled sighs
From first love's dreame's my love is scarcely waking
The wounds might heal but still the heart is aching
Her looks was like the spring her very voice
Was springs own music more then song to me
Choice of my boyhood nay my souls first choice
From her sweet thralldom I am never free
Yet here my prison is a spring to me
Past memories bloom like flowers where e'er I rove
My very bondage though in snares — is free
I love to stretch me in this shadey Grove
& muse upon the memories of love
Child Harold (lines 1256 - 1273)
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