 | Poems |  |
YE ROSES, WITH HER BLUSHES, BLOW.
Ye roses, with her blushes, blow;
Ye lilies, lift her neck of snow;
Thou dusky night, ye starry skies,
Show forth the dark light of her eyes;
Thou rosy morning, steal to earth
With her gay smiles, her sparkling mirth;
You, dewy tears of twilight eves,
Weep softly, softly as she grieves,
That ever she may present be
In all sweet sounds we hear, in all sweet sights we see.
Ye lilies, lift her neck of snow;
Thou dusky night, ye starry skies,
Show forth the dark light of her eyes;
Thou rosy morning, steal to earth
With her gay smiles, her sparkling mirth;
You, dewy tears of twilight eves,
Weep softly, softly as she grieves,
That ever she may present be
In all sweet sounds we hear, in all sweet sights we see.
Thou, Music, with her low tones stir
Our hearts; thou, Painting, image her;
And thou, white Sculpture, let her seem
To smile from every marble dream
Of thine, that she may ever be
Fair in all fair things shaped by thee;
And thou, O Poet, to her give,
Sweet, in thy sweetest songs to live,
So thou, blest Art, shalt give her part
In all thy lustrous life in man's delighted heart.
Our hearts; thou, Painting, image her;
And thou, white Sculpture, let her seem
To smile from every marble dream
Of thine, that she may ever be
Fair in all fair things shaped by thee;
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Sweet, in thy sweetest songs to live,
So thou, blest Art, shalt give her part
In all thy lustrous life in man's delighted heart.
| Poems | |