XXIX.
TO THE BIRD'S-EYE FLOWER.
1
Thy beauty seems wrought of bright dew
That fell from the rainbow's blue
In rich drops azure and pearly;
And the lark, from beside thee upspringing,
Wild love of thy sweet eye seems singing,
As he mounts to the white clouds curly.
2
Thou openest thy gaze to the morn,
Whose kiss on thine eye-lid is worn,
Whence it presseth a tear of splendour
And a bride, on her rich bed dreaming
Of the love in her blue veins streaming,
Wakes not with a glance more tender.
3
Beautiful being! love-star of the flowers!
Birth-mate of the daisy in primrose hours!
Blue gem of the emerald meadow!
Not more sweetly the lone poet sleepeth
O'er the eloquent thought which he weepeth,
Than thou o'er thy moonlight shadow.
