vii.
Ah! thou hast that in store which none can give,
None but thyself, and I am fain to live
To watch the outcome of so fair a gift,—
To see the bright good morrow loom and lift,
And know that thou,—unpeer'd beneath the moon,—
Untamed of men,—untutor'd to the tune
Of lip with lip,—wilt cease thy coy disdain
And learn the languors of the loves of June.