Dame Poesy — there are on whom she showers
The largess of her love with liberal hand,
Who in her arrassed presence-chamber stand
Crowned with her gifts of fadeless song for flowers.
And there are those again whom she devours
With fiery blinding kisses — as a brand
Burning, a cloud love-lurid o'er the lands
Flashing forth passion fierce as pain.
But ours,
Ours is a love, if so perchance it be
That I have place at all within her heart.
Other than these, and humbler for my part,
Who am content when there has fallen on me
In life's dull champaign, for a little while,
The flitting April favour of her smile.
