With breath of thyme and bees that hum,
Across the years you seem to come, --
Across the years with nymph-like head,
And wind-blown brows unfilleted;
A girlish shape that slips the bud
In lines of unspoiled symettry;
A girlish shape that stirs the blood
With pulse of Spring, Autonoae!

Where'er you pass,--where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
Where'er you go, where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;
You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,--
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea;
You wake in me a Pan not dead,--
Not wholly dead! -- Autonoae!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreath the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;
To watch across the stricken chords
Your rosy twinkling fingers flee;
To woo you in soft woodland words,
With woodland pipe, Autonoeae!

In vain,--in vain! The years divide:
Where Thamis rolls a murky tide,
I sit and fill my painful reams,
And see you only in my dreams;--
A vision, like Alcestis, brought
From under-lands of Memory,--
A dream of Form in days of Thought,--
A dream,--a dream, Autonoae!