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mmering clouds; and while, from lea to lea, The great earth reddens with a maid's delight, Behold! I bring to thee, as yesternight, My subject song. Do thou protect apace My peerless one, my Peri with the face That is a marvel to the minds of men, And like a flower for humbleness of grace. iii. The earth which loves thee, or I much have err'd, The glad, green earth which waits, as for a word, The sound of thee, up-shuddering through the morn, The restive earth is pleased when Day is born, And soon will take each separate silent beam As proof of sex,--exulting in the dream Of joys to come, and quicken'd and convuls'd, Year after year, by love's triumphant theme. iv. A thousand times the flowers in all the fields Will bow to thee; and with their little shields The daisy-folk will muster on the plain. A thousand songs the birds will sing again, As sweet to hear as quiverings of a lute; And she I love will sing, for thy repute, Full many a song. She sings when she but speaks; And when she's near the birds should all be mute. v. O my Beloved! from thy curtain'd bed Arise, rejoice, uplift thy golden head, And be an instant, while I muse on this, As nude as statues, and as good to kiss As dear St. Agnes when she met her death, Unclad and pure and patient of her breath, And with the grace of God for wedding-gown, As many an ancient story witnesseth. vi. The bath, the plunge, the combing of the hair, All this I view,--a sight beyond compare Since Daphne died in all the varied charms Of her chaste body,--rounded regal arms, And shape supreme, too fair for human gaze, But not too fair to win the mirror's praise That throbs to see thee in thy deshabille And loves thee well through all the nights and days. vii. I see thee thus in fancy, as in books A man may see the naiads of the brooks;-- As one entranced by potions aptly given May see the angels where they walk in Heaven, And may not greet them in their high estate. For who shall guess the riddle wrought of Fate Till he be dead? And who that lives a span Shall thwart the Future where it lies in wait? viii. And now to-day a word I dare not write Starts to my lips, as when a baffled knight Witholds a song which fain he would repeat; For lo! the sense thereof is passing sweet. And, like a cup that's full, my heart is fill'd With new desires and quiverings new-distill'd From old delights; and all my pu
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