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