Alas, the sedge is withered from the lake,

For erelong hath paled that summer sky;

For the autumnal rime hath slain warm July.

My love, ’midst these dreary scenes wide awake,

’Tis now springing Hybla’s honied roses for thy sake

In the favonian airs stirring far and nigh.

O cover me with the bright of thine eye

Whose steadfastness will ne’er my soul forsake—

Thou seest me; and this will give me another birth,

With rapture divine, like the violet-crowned Aphrodite

Rising with Flora and Zephyr and the vernal mirth

From the foam of the perfumèd Ægean sea.

And our tryst shall be that dell—in the earth

The one aptest—where young Daphnis chased Chloё.