Coloured like Atlantic wave
To whose curve the bright air gave
Splendour, and the unfathomed blue
Mystery of nameless hue;
If to others you but shine
As a plait of silken twine,
In your rich threads live for me
Chosen hours of Cicely.
Here her fingers have inwrought
Fancies of her changing thought,
Sometimes smooth as running stream,
Sudden now in wayward gleam,
Reverie at some instant broken
(Look, the pretty gap that's token):
Dear to me because you came
Not mechanically tame
But with impulses anew
Quickened, as the colour grew,
Out of laughter or surprise
Shining from her lifted eyes,
Hovering fears without a cause
Soothed in some enchanted pause,
Or those silences that sing
When happy thoughts go wandering.
Here her forehead earnest bent
O'er her busy hands' intent,
And the wavering threads reply
With a frolic mutiny.
O in you she wrought so much
As my fingers thrill to touch.
Round my neck, a blue charm, lie
Breathing thoughts of Cicely.