| |
| ALL glorious as the Rainbow’s birth | |
| She came in Spring-tide’s golden hours, | |
| When Heaven went hand-in-hand with Earth, | |
| And May was crown’d with buds and flowers. | |
| The mounting devil at my heart | 5 |
| Clomb faintlier, as my life did win | |
| The charmèd heaven she wrought apart | |
| To wake its better Angel in. | |
| With radiant mien she trod serene | |
| And pass’d me smiling by— | 10 |
| O, who that look’d could help but love? | |
| Not I, sweet soul, not I! | |
| |
| Her budding breasts like fragrant fruit | |
| Of love were ripening to be press’d: | |
| Her voice that shook my heart’s red root | 15 |
| Might not have broken a Babe’s rest,— | |
| More liquid than the running brooks, | |
| More vernal than the voice of Spring, | |
| When Nightingales are in their nooks, | |
| And all the leafy thickets ring. | 20 |
| The love she coyly hid at heart | |
| Was shyly conscious in her eye; | |
| O, who that look’d could help but love? | |
| Not I, sweet soul, not I! | |
| |
