 | On Viol and Flute |  |
49
PARADISE.
Her eyes are a twin columbine,
Her lips more red than cherry-knots,
Her polished cheek a nectarine,
Her hair the hue of apricots;
Her every feature mocks a flower,
Or shames the ripeness of ripe fruit,
And in her mind, from hour to hour,
Aroma'd fancies bud and shoot.
Her lips more red than cherry-knots,
Her polished cheek a nectarine,
Her hair the hue of apricots;
Her every feature mocks a flower,
Or shames the ripeness of ripe fruit,
And in her mind, from hour to hour,
Aroma'd fancies bud and shoot.
She seems, in this sweet solitude,
My Eve and Eden both in one,
And I an Adam, red and rude,
Too coarse for her to wait upon;
But every day I love her more,
And hope in Heaven to grasp the whole,
To rise to heights unguessed before
And through her body learn her soul.
My Eve and Eden both in one,
And I an Adam, red and rude,
Too coarse for her to wait upon;
But every day I love her more,
And hope in Heaven to grasp the whole,
To rise to heights unguessed before
And through her body learn her soul.
| On Viol and Flute | |