Then what a fount of wealth to lover’s sight! 
Her loosened hair, I heard her mother say,
When she is seated, tumbles to the floor
And trails the length of her own foot and more: 
And dare I, lapt in bliss, dream my delight
Ere long shall watch its rippling softness play?

Dare I, O vanity! but do I dare
Think she now looks upon the sorry rhyme
I wrote long ere that well-loved setting sun,
What time love conquering dread My Lady won,
While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:—­
Even now I gave it her at parting time.

“O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart
My grieving love to ease this stricken heart;
   But once, O Love, to fall and rest
      This wearied head of mine,
      But once to weep in thine
   Unutterably tender breast;
And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath;
To feel it playing sweeter were than death.

“Than death were sweet to one bent down and old,
And worn with persecutions manifold;
   Whose stoutness long endured alone
      The charge of bitter foes,
      Till, furious, he rose,
   When smitten, all were overthrown. 
Who then of those, his dearest, none could find,
They having fled as leaves before the wind.

“As he would pass, when to his failing sight
Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright;
   And piercing through his drowsed ears
      Enters their tuneful cry
      Of summons, audibly,
   Thither where flow no mourners’ tears: 
So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed,
Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest.”

Her window now is darkness, save the sheen
Glazed on it by the moon.  Within she lies
Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest,
And folds contentment babelike to her breast,
Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene,
Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies.

V. WILD ROSE.

To call My Lady where she stood
“A Wild-rose blossom of the wood,”
Makes but a poor similitude.

For who by such a sleight would reach
An aim, consumes the worth in speech,
And sets a crimson rose to bleach.

My Love, whose store of household sense
Gives duty golden recompense,
And arms her goodness with defence: 

The sweet reliance of whose gaze
Originates in gracious ways,
And wins the trust that trust repays: 

Whose stately figure’s varying grace
Is never seen unless her face
Turn beaming toward another place;

For such a halo round it glows
Surprised attention only knows
A lively wonder in repose.

Can flowers that breathe one little day
In odorous sweetness life away,
And wavering to the earth decay,

Have any claim to rank with her,
Warmed in whose soul impulses stir,
Then bloom to goodness, and aver

Her worth through spheral joys shall move
When suns and systems cease above,
And nothing lives but perfect Love?