Songs of A Wayfarer :: :: University of Virginia Library

Great store of goodly flowers are in it found:
As scented almond blossoms whiter than
The breast of any swan;
Lilies and roses more than stars at night;

Staid violets and pinks: a wondrous sight:
And simple herbs; as dill and rosemary,
Basil and marjory;
With all that ever grew of balm and spice.

And on its lawns, in shady nooks, likewise,
From many marble fountains, rise around
Fresh streams with pleasant sound:
And, in long avenues of cypresses,

White statues stand in row: great Hercules;
Diana with her bow; and Venus come
But newly from the foam;
Cupid and Psyche; with a hundred more.

And then, for music, you may hear the roar
Of waterfalls, and birds that sing most clear:
All very sweet to hear:
The thrush, the nightingale, the morning lark.

Amongst the trees long alcoves run and dark:
But not too dark to see the butterflies,
With gorgeous, painted eyes,
Flit by or rest awhile upon a flower.

And if, at any time, a smiling shower
Should fall to feed the blossoms that are there,
Making them still more fair,
There are thick myrtle bowers wherein to go.

Think if this garden be well set or no;
Perfumed with orange trees and lemon trees,
And jasmine sweet as these:
All kept in order by deft gardeners!

Then, sometimes, when the low wind lightly stirs
The bowers at eve, where buds and blossoms twine,
My Lady walks therein,
Who is the queen of all that beauteous place.

There is a dawn of glory in her face.
Whenas she goes each flower lifts its head
And marvels at her tread;
It is so light and fairy-like a thing.

And then the wandering zephyr stays his wing;
Toying for love amongst her golden hair,
And lightly lingers there,
More odoured than in rosy-blossomed bowers.

As, in transparent seas, strange ocean-flowers
Beneath the shimmering surface may be seen;
So clear, untouched by sin,
Her thoughts gleam through the crystal of her eyes.

Her lips are red as two ripe strawberries;
And such rare music flows through them in speech,
(Read softly, I beseech!)
It is as though a dulcimer should speak.

Next comes the wonder of her perfect neck
Which, like a marble column chaste as snow
Tinged by the evening's glow,
Holds up her small and many dimpled chin:

Here cunning smiling Loves peep out and in,
And shoot their arrows. From her shoulders blown
Her long locks streaming down
About her ivory bosom wave and curl.

As to her feet, half hid in buckled pearl
And silk; in my opinion, they were meant
Each one to ornament
The other, and its fellow prettier make.

Her form its just proportion doth take
From every graceful thing that God has made:
As bird, and cloud, and blade
Of pensile grass that bears the morning dew.

Her presence, like soft sunshine, doth renew
The welcome fragrance of fresh-budded spring;
It is so sweet a thing:
Its life all other life doth interfuse.

She is not proud; but very gracious,
And mild in aspect as the earliest star.
The dress that she doth wear
Flows round her like a rivulet round a stone.

Her beauty from all beauteous things is won:
That, if she bear a lily or a rose,
One looks, but scarcely knows,
If she or it be framed in fairer mould.

Such graces hath she and so manifold,
No man in all the world knows how to name
More than the half of them.
Her soul is like the sea; so clear and fair

And wide, that heaven itself is mirrored there
To make the world more glad: but now I come
To treat of that calm home
Of noblest thoughts and purest influences—

No poet ever sung in Attic Greece
Such song as mine would be if I could tell
The story true and well
Of that high realm of Truth and Purity.

Go forth, my little song, and lightly fly,
Bearing amongst her bowers fresh and green
My duty to your queen;
And through the fading of the golden light
Whisper into her ear a low Goodnight!