Fresh beauties, howsoe’er she moves, are stirred:
As the sunned bosom of a humming bird
At each pant lifts some fiery hue,
Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue;
The same, yet ever new.
What time she walks beneath the flowering May,
Quite sure am I the scented blossoms say,
“O Lady with the sunlit hair!
Stay and drink our odorous air,
The incense that we bear:
“Thy beauty, Lady, we would ever shade;
For near to thee, our sweetness might not fade.”
And could the trees be broken-hearted,
The green sap surely must have smarted,
When my Lady parted.
How beautiful she is! A glorious gem
She shines above the summer diadem
Of flowers! And when her light is seen
Among them, all in reverence lean
To her, their tending Queen.
A man so poor that want assaults his health,
Blessed with relief one morn in boundless wealth,
Breathes no such joy as mine, when she
Stands statelier, expecting me,
Than tall white lilies be:
And the white flutter of her robe to trace,
Where clematis and jasmine interlace,
Expands my gaze triumphantly:
Even such his gaze, who sees on high
His flag, for victory.
We wander forth unconsciously, because
The azure beauty of the evening draws;
When sober hues pervade the ground,
And universal life is drowned
Into hushed depths of sound.
We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray
With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray,
And force sweet pauses on our walk;
I lift one with my foot, and talk
About its leaves and stalk.
Or maybe that some thorn or prickly stem
Will take a prisoner her long garments’ hem;
To disentangle it I kneel,
Oft wounding more than I can heal;
It makes her laugh, my zeal.