xviii.
In woodland places where the grass is lit
With lamp-like flowers, I seem to see thee flit
On azure wings, as if to bless the glade;
For, everywhere, thy form in shine and shade
Doth come and go, conversant, as I deem,
With Nature's whims; for thou'rt of great esteem
In fairy haunts; and elves and fays confess
How sweet thou art, my Love! and how supreme.