III.
"Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!"
Climbs beautiful and sunny-browed
Up, up the kindling hills and wakes
Blue berries in the berry brakes;
With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach,
Deep powders smothered quince and peach;
Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes;
Teaches each sod how to be wise
With twenty wild-flowers for one weed;
And kisses germs that they may seed.
In purest purple and sweet white
Treads up the happier hills of light;
Bloom, cloudy-borne, song in her hair,
Long dew-drops her pale fingers fair:
Big wind-retainers, and the rains
Her yeomen strong that flash the plains;
While scarlet mists at dawn,—and gold
At eve,—her panoply enfold.—
Her herald tabarded behold!—
Awake to greet! prepare to sing!
She comes, the darling Duchess, Spring!"
CHORDS.
I.
SLEEP while I sing to thee, Dulcinea,—
How like a shower of moonlight-crusted beams
Of textile form compact, whose veins run stars,—
Discovered goddess of what naked loves!—
Maiden of dreams and aromatic sleep,
Thou liest. Thy long instrument against
Thy god-voluptuous sensuousness of hip
Pure iridescent pearl of ocean slopes:
Tempestuous silent color-melodies
Pulse glimmering from it beaten by the moon,—
Soft songs the white hands of white shadows touch.—
Magnetic star set slumberous over night,
Watch with me this superior star of Earth
Good Heaven was kind to grant me: Trembler,
Like some soft bird, dream, while I sing to thee—
Dream, languid ardor, my Dulcinea, dream.