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