He rattled sweet-pea on the stalk
And glory in the vine;
He knelt before the one-eyed saint
That bowed the columbine.
He saw the light between the slats–
He spied her sleeping there–
Between the rows of climbing vines,
Close to the briar lair.
The blue eyes slept beneath her dreams;
He crept in with a prayer
To smooth the roses, one by one,
That bloom in tangled hair.