It breathed from out of its opening soul
The breath that heaven has given the rose,
The sweetest by far that mortal knows,
And drank sweet love from the night’s dew-bowl.
The tint of the fleecy clouds of morn
Came out of the flushing tide of its heart,
And lay on its cheek with artless art—
The fairest blush that ever was born.
’Twas when the rose was full in bloom
I passed along that wilding lane