THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS.
93
II.
THE SERENADE.
Last night, as Thou thy wonted round didst make,
Beloved watcher, sore I chid the wind,
When citron scents were wooing it, to take
Thy sweetness from me, leaving theirs behind!
For ever, though my very soul did wake
To catch that broken music, tenderness
Was fain to fill its pauses with a guess!
Beloved watcher, sore I chid the wind,
When citron scents were wooing it, to take
Thy sweetness from me, leaving theirs behind!
For ever, though my very soul did wake
To catch that broken music, tenderness
Was fain to fill its pauses with a guess!
And "Oh, my prisoned jewel"[1] (so I strove
To bind these links, the breezes' envious dole
In one), thou calledst me "thy star, thy dove,
Thy rose, thy angel, treasure of thy soul!"
These words came fitfully, the strain passed by;
Then from these scattered fragments Love and I
Sat down to frame one bright mosaic whole!
To bind these links, the breezes' envious dole
In one), thou calledst me "thy star, thy dove,
Thy rose, thy angel, treasure of thy soul!"
These words came fitfully, the strain passed by;
Then from these scattered fragments Love and I
Sat down to frame one bright mosaic whole!
Thou callest me thy Rose!
O that indeed I were
A white rose—dewy fair.
Or ruby-red—that glows
On India's fervid air;
For then would I enclose
O that indeed I were
A white rose—dewy fair.
Or ruby-red—that glows
On India's fervid air;
For then would I enclose
My fragrance shut within thy heart, and dwell
As lives the flower's quick spirit in the cell
As lives the flower's quick spirit in the cell
- ↑ Tesouro imprisonado
