Gat such cold haughtiness of skies;
How, some wood-flower's shadow brown,
Dimmed her fair forehead's wrath a frown;
How, rippled sunshine blown thro' air,
Tossed scorn her eloquence of hair;
How to a folded bud again
She drew her blossomed lips' disdain;
Naught deigning save eyes' utterance,
Star-words, which quicker reach the sense;
Then, afterwards, how melted there