Lest thou discover her, nor know 'tis she;
And she enslave thee evermore, and there
Reward thee with but kingliest beggary:
Make thine the robust red her cheek that stings;
The kiss-sweet odor, thine, her wild breath brings;
Make thine the broad bloom of her crownéd brow;
The hearts of light that ardor her proud eyes;
That melody,—which is herself,—that sings
The poem of her presence and the vow,
That stars exalts and mortals deifies.