Floating, we chase thee o’er the rippled breast
Of Ocean in his rest.
“Come Venus from thy lair,
Up through the stirless air,
Quivering with Love’s young heat and sweet despair;
As thou wast wont to quiver
Upon my childhood’s river,
Where all the pendulous willows thrilled to bear
The breeze, as men do, care.
“Come out ye many stars!