In all the languorous, summer noons

Or riotous breaths of all perfumes,

Like nothing in my garden bed

Of flowers washed blue or drenched red;

Peculiarly designed it sat

And nodded on my lady’s hat.

I summoned all my powers to wit

But could not find a name for it.

I sought my couch with troubled breast,

I could not from my memory wrest{74}

{74}

The name of that tormenting bloom,

Till wearied tossing, then I swooned

Into forgetfulness and dreamed

Of lands beyond where sunlight streamed,

In gardens where an angel talked

In soft glad whispers as he walked.

And touched each blossoming bud and bell

With pride and love ineffable.

But one he loved beyond compare;

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