But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well—
Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers,
Lingering amid the blooming waste he loves,
Though all his swarthy worshipers are gone—
Slender and small his rounded cheek all brown
And ruddy with the sunshine; let him come
On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake,
And part with little hands the spiky grass;
And touching with his cherry lips the edge
Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew.