NATURA

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The drapery of night withdrawn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

And read the poems thou hast writ

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.