Two separate - yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious - have you known
The passion, father? You have not:
A cottager, I mark'd a throne
Of half the world as all my own,
And murmur'd at such lowly lot -
But, just like any other dream,
Upon the vapour of the dew
My own had past, did not the beam
Of beauty which did while it thro'
The minute - the hour - the day - oppress
My mind with double loveliness.

We walk'd together on the crown
Of a high mountain which look'd down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock and forest, on the hills -
The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers
And shouting with a thousand rills.

I spoke to her of power and pride,
But mystically - in such guise
That she might deem it nought beside
The moment's converse; in her eyes
I read, perhaps too carelessly -
A mingled feeling with my own -
The flush on her bright cheek, to me
Seem'd to become a queenly throne
Too well that I should let it be