Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes,
Warmly as ye did before!
Bloom again, ye happy gardens,
With the radiant tints of yore!
Warble out in spray and thicket,
All ye choristers unseen,
Let the leafy woodland echo
With an anthem to its queen!
Lo! she cometh in her beauty,
Stately with a Juno grace,
Raven locks, Madonna-braided
O'er her sweet and blushing face:
Eyes of deepest violet, beaming
With the love that knows not shame,—
Lips, that thrill my inmost being
With the utterance of a name.
And I bend the knee before her,
As a captive ought to bow,—
Pray thee, listen to my pleading,
Sovereign of my soul art thou!
O my dear and gentle lady,
Let me show thee all my pain,
Ere the words that late were prison'd
Sink into my heart again.
Love, they say, is very fearful
Ere its curtain be withdrawn,
Trembling at the thought of error
As the shadows scare the fawn.
Love hath bound me to thee, lady,
Since the well-remember'd day
When I first beheld thee coming
In the light of lustrous May.
Not a word I dared to utter—
More than he who, long ago,
Saw the heavenly shapes descending
Over Ida's slopes of snow:
When a low and solemn music
Floated through the listening grove,
And the throstle's song was silenced,
And the doling of the dove: