Beautiful, O woman! the sun on flower and tree,
And beautiful the balmy wind that dreameth on the sea;
And softly soundeth in thine ear, the song of peasants reaping,
The dove's low chant among the leaves, its twilight vigil keeping.
And beautiful the hushing of the linnet in her nest,
With her young beneath her wings, and the sunset on her breast:
While hid among the flowers, where the dreamy bee is flitting,
Singing unto its own glad heart, the poet child is sitting.
It stirreth up the soul, upon the golden waves to see,
The galley lifting up her crowned head triumphantly—