Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment

In the white lily’s breezy tint,

His conquer’d Sybaris, than I, when first

From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass—

Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,

Where, as the breezes pass,

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways—

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,

Or whiten in the wind—of waters blue