Poetry Archives

The God of Love and I in wonder stared,
(Ne’er having gazed on miracles ere now,)
Upon my lady’s smiling lips and brow,
Who only with herself may be compared.
Neath the calm beauty of her forehead bared,
Those twin stars of my love did burn and flow,
No lesser lamps again the path might show
To the proud lover who by these had fared.
Oh miracle, when on the grass at rest,
Herself a flower, she would clasp and hold
A leafy branch against her snow-white breast.
What joy to see her, in the autumn cold,
Wander alone, with maiden thoughts possess’d,
Weaving a garland of dry, crispy gold!