I see the delicate fine tissue light
In which our little damsel's limbs are dressed....
Oft on the hills a feeble snow-streak lies,
Which the sun smiteth in sequestered place.
Let sun rule snow! Thou, Love, my ruler art,
When on that fair and more than human face
I muse, which from afar makes soft my eyes....
I never yet saw after mighty rain
The roving stars in the calm welkin glide
And glitter back between the frost and dew,