sink to rest.”

Her window now is darkness, save the sheen Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, And folds contentment babelike to her breast, Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies.

p. 51V. WILD ROSE.

p. 51

To call My Lady where she stood “A Wild-rose blossom of the wood,” Makes but a poor similitude.

For who by such a sleight would reach An aim, consumes the worth in speech, And sets a crimson rose to bleach.

My Love, whose store of household sense Gives duty golden recompense, And arms her goodness with defence:

The sweet reliance of whose gaze Originates in gracious ways, And wins the trust that trust repays:

p. 52Whose stately figure’s varying grace Is never seen unless her face Turn beaming toward another place;

p. 52

For such a halo round it glows Surprised attention only knows A lively wonder in repose.

Can flowers that breathe one little day In odorous sweetness life away, And wavering to the earth decay,

Have any claim to rank with her, Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, Then bloom to goodness, and aver

Her worth through spheral joys shall move When suns and systems cease above, And nothing lives but perfect Love?

p. 53VI. MY LADY’S GLORY.

p. 53

Strong in the regal strength of love, Enthroned by native worth Her sway is held on earth: Whose soul looks downward from above Exalted stars, whose power Brightens the brightest flower.

Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O’er old elm-shadowed lawns. A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning’s glow, Hints a full day below.

p. 54When site looks wide around the skies On the sun’s dazzling track, And when shines softly back Its glory to her open eyes, She fills our hearts and sight With wonder 

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