And how I love, when the slumber’s repose
The Morphean amulet around my wrist chains;
When kissèd is my cheek by lulling pillows,—
In the peaceful citadel, from mortal pains
Retired, built on the mount of Night’s black reign;
To roam through the flowery woods of thy land,
Where doth stamp many an immortal glory;
Where Hope’s rainbow spans the purpureal main;
Where, as a violet cast off by a careless hand,
Lethe-wards sinks the film-eyed Melancholy.
 
                               II
Thou deepest mead carest by Olympus’ winds,
Thou hall, and bower fair, only to myst’ries known,
Perfumèd Castaly, for bards’ sunbright minds
Created, which inspires this rhyme, — a peony fresh-blown
With pink domain, given birth by early May;
The Muses are sweet indeed, — but sweeter
By far is he... whom did I behold thro’ thy
Charmèd charities. Yet, with whose eyes deep and gay
Can my lips in awakening tremble ne’er?
What heart-stifling durance? What wild fancy?
 
                             III
So be thou the sylvan trees, and my Love
Thine eternal eremite!Therefore might
I ne’er flee to thy fair-shapèd alcove,
But with purple phantasies in hours of midnight!
In thy glorious sun-eye, I am the maiden
With airy steps and deep gaze, dancing sweet
Towards the lover’s tryst in enamelled dells;
’Neath the sapphire vault of thine heaven,
I will zone him, heart to heart, with amorous heat,
And my lips be rhymèd with his by rosy spells.