Classic Poem

Fair , my own darling, are the flowers of Spring . . .
Rathe primrose, violet, and eglantine,
Anemone and golden celandine:
Not less delicious all the birds that sing
Carols of joy upon the amorous wing,
Earine, in these sweet hours of thine.
Spring's youngest sister art thou, Lady mine,

Child who hast love for every living thing
Of earth and air. A moment now I linger—
Linger, and think of thee, and give thee this
Love-gift of rhymes made when my spirit was free.
If thou wilt touch it with a white forefinger—
Nay, if the volume thou wilt deign to kiss—
Surely my verse shall live, Earine.