Of my dear western window! where the beams
Of the departing sun do wanton lurk
To kiss thy blushing flowers, or with bright gleams
To peep through all thine ever opening seams,
When gentle breezes are at play with thee!
Dear to my heart thy curtain’d verdure! Dreams
Of former joyous days thou bring’st to me,
When as a child I roam’d where vines were waving free.
III.
I do bethink me of the jessamine,