  O beauteous maid, my heart is thine; I lay its dearest offering at thy feet; I burn its sweetest incense on thy shrine, For thou, sweet maid, art all divine, For worship thou art meet. Let those who never felt the glow That summer suns have spread o'er flowery meads, Whose hearts have never thrilled at arch-ed bow, Or when the cascade's crystal flow Is sparkling into beads, Deny thy charms. To me thy smile Is sweeter boon than untried worlds can yield; No creed of priests can ever lure me while Thy wondrous love so free from guile, Is everywhere revealed. The severing clouds at early dawn Blush red as roses bursting into bloom At thy deft touch; and on the dewy lawn The drapery of night withdrawn I find no hint of gloom. And when at noon the streets I quit For dappled shade or thickest leafy bower, Then, blushing, thou dost come with me to sit In leaf and tint of flower. At evening walking arm in arm With thee through glen or by the river's brink, I watch the shades descend o'er distant farm And still the world has lost no charm That soul can wish or think. The loom of fancy never wove Beneath the starlit skies of southern seas A dream of beauty thy enchanting love On hill or stream or sheltered cove, Or on the open leas Has not supplied; and thou, sweet maid, Dost never weary, but from day to day, And season unto season, every shade In sky or cloud is new inlaid With colors soft or gay. Yon mountain late enrobed in snow Thou clothest now in dress of shimmering green; Ere long another garb wilt thou bestow Upon her, lest thy lover grow Aweary of the scene. And when the sheen of summer sky Shall fade into October's sombre gray, And Autumn's gayest flowers a-withered lie, For me yon mountain thou will tie Into a rare bouquet. |
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