 | Poems |  |
I
Here let the bliss of summer and her nightBe on my heart as wide and pure as heaven;
Now while o'er earth the tide of young delight
Brims to the full, calm'd by the wizard Seven,
And their high mistress, yon enchanted Moon;
The air is faint, yet fresh as primrose buds,
And dim with weft of honey-colour'd beams,
A bride-robe for the new espousèd June,
Who lies white-limbed among her flowers, nor dreams,
Such a divine content her being floods.
| Poems | |