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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XII.
O Cowslips sweetening lawn and vale,
O Harebells drenched in noontide dew,
O moon-white Primrose, Wind-flower frail!
The song should be of her, not you!
O Harebells drenched in noontide dew,
O moon-white Primrose, Wind-flower frail!
The song should be of her, not you!
The May breeze answered, whispering low,
‘Not thine: they sing her praises best!
The flowers her grace in theirs can show:
Her claims they prove not, yet attest.
‘Not thine: they sing her praises best!
The flowers her grace in theirs can show:
Her claims they prove not, yet attest.
‘Beneath all fair things round thee strewn
Her beauty lurks, by sense unseen:
Who lifts their veil uprears a throne
In holy hearts to Beauty's Queen.’
Her beauty lurks, by sense unseen:
Who lifts their veil uprears a throne
In holy hearts to Beauty's Queen.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |