So many hopes in a wooing!—
Therein you could not deceive me;
The heart was here and the hope pursuing,
Knew that you loved, believe me.—
Bunched bells o’ the blush pomegranate — to fix
At your throat; three drops of fire they are;
And the maiden moon and the maiden star
Sink silvery over yon meadow ricks.
Will you look?— till I hug your head back, so —
For I know it is “yes” though you whisper “no,” —
And my kisses, sweet, are six.