 | The hill of stones and other poems |  |
86
A CONCEIT.
Loitering scents from the garden come,
Blown from shelter of wind-stirred trees;
Like bits of song from the lips we love,
They rise and fade on the evening breeze.
Blown from shelter of wind-stirred trees;
Like bits of song from the lips we love,
They rise and fade on the evening breeze.
And shall we marry in wedlock sweet
The poet's soul and the floweret's breath,
And, musing, wonder what many tongues
The yearning singer may gain in death?
The poet's soul and the floweret's breath,
And, musing, wonder what many tongues
The yearning singer may gain in death?
Who wilt thou hear in the rich wild scents
Of the ancient gardens' well-trimmed shade?
Who shall the jessamine's laureate be,
And who for the summer's noble maid?
Of the ancient gardens' well-trimmed shade?
Who shall the jessamine's laureate be,
And who for the summer's noble maid?
87
The great red rose shall tell us in song
Her tender passion of sweet perfume;
And whose shall the frail clematis be,
With its faint aroma and fringe of bloom?
Her tender passion of sweet perfume;
And whose shall the frail clematis be,
With its faint aroma and fringe of bloom?
Wilt give unto Keats the waiting rose;
To Shelley's voice the violet's scent;
And Spenser's measure of stately song,
To haunt the lily's silvery tent.
To Shelley's voice the violet's scent;
And Spenser's measure of stately song,
To haunt the lily's silvery tent.
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