Yellow as sunset skies and pale As fairy clouds that stay or sail Thro' azure vaults of summer, blue As summer heavens the violets grew; And mosses on which spurts of light Fell laughing, like the lips one might Feign for a Hebe or a girl Whose mouth heat-lightens up with pearl; Limp ferns in murmuring shadows shrunk And silent as if stunned or drunk With moist aromas of the wood; Dry rustlings of the quietude; On silver fronds' thin tresses new Cold limpid blisters of the dew. Across the rambling fence she leaned: A gingham gown to ankles bare; Her artless beauty, bonnet-screened, Tempestuous with its stormy hair. A rain-crow gurgled in a vine,-- She heard it not--a step she hears; The wild rose smelt like delicate wine,-- She knew it not--'tis he that nears. With smiles of greeting all her face Grew musical; with rustic grace He leant beside her, and they had Some parley, with light laughter glad; I know not what; I know but this, Its final period was a kiss.
Wafted o'er purple seas, From gold Hesperides, Mixed with the southern breeze, Hail to us spirits! Dripping with fragrant rains, Fire of our ardent veins, Life of the barren plains, Woodlands and germs that the woodland inherits.
Wan as the creamy mist, Tinged with pale amethyst, Warm with the sun that kissed Vine-tangled mountains Looming o'er tropic lakes, Where ev'ry air that shakes Tamarisk coverts makes Music that haunts like the falling of fountains.
Swift are our flashing feet, Fleet with the winds that meet, Winds that, blown, billow sweet, And with light porous, Boom with the drunken bees, Sigh with the surge of seas, Rush with the rush of trees, Birds and wild wings and of torrents sonorous.
Stars in our liquid eyes, Stars of the darkest skies, And on our fingers lies Starlight; and shadows, Unmooned, of nights that creep Hide in our tresses deep, And in our limbs white sleep Dreams like a baby in asphodel meadows.
Music of many streams, Strength of a million beams, Fire and sainted dreams, Murmuring lowly, Pulse on hot lips of light, Which, what they kiss of blight, Quicken and blossom white, Raise to be beautiful, perfect, and holy.
Oh, will you sit and wait, When fields, erst desolate, Now are intoxicate With life that flowers? Purple with love and rife With their fierce budded life, Passion and rosy strife Drained from warm winds and the turbulent showers?