Of siren sweetness to poetic Spring,
While gliding, here and there, on milky limbs.
All day it gazes: day by day its eye
Searches the stainless crystal of the stream,
Watching those faultless, fairy forms float by.
Day after day it watches, hour on hour,
Like love above the grave of that it loved —
More like a mortal than a simple flower.
When night descends—when darkness, like the grave’s,
Falls on the stream—when moss and fern and grass