Among which lit by their light so keen
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars?
No, for the breast may burst its bars,
The heart its shell, at sight of sheen
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars:
Miles away from the mad earth's jars,
Beneath a leafy and shining screen,
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars.
And I—self-scathed with mortal scars,
I weep, when I see, in its radiant mien,