 | Love-Songs |  |
61
WHERE THOU ART, SWEET.
Where thou art, sweet, it matters not to knowWhether sweet summer's sceptre reigns supreme,
For thou art girded with a luscious dream
That darts a rosy radiance over snow,
As thou dost tread triumphant to and fro,—
The light wherewith thy winged feet do teem;
Where they have trodden, the amorous grasses seem
To blossom into flame and overflow,
As at the advent of twin goddesses;
And, when thy hand is laid upon my neck,
It is even as a shower divine to bless
The solemn marble, cleansed from every fleck
By the descending silvery flames that check
The thunders of sin's turbulent distress.
| Love-Songs | |