Classic Poem

Look forth, Beloved, from thy mansion high,
By soft airs fanned,
And see the summer from her bluest sky
Surprise the land!

See how the bare hills bask in purple bliss
Along the south:
On the brown death of winter falls a kiss
From summer's mouth!

From pines that weave, among the ravished trees,
Their phantom bowers,
A murmur comes, as sought the ghosts of bees
The ghosts of flowers.

Though yet no blood may swell the willow rind,
No grass-blade start,
A dream of blossoms fills the yearning wind,
Of love, my heart.

Look forth, Beloved, through the tender air,
And let thine eyes
The violets be, it finds not anywhere,
And scentless dies.

Look, and thy trembling locks of plenteous gold
The day shall see,
And search no more where first, on yonder wold,
The cowslips be.

Look, and the wandering summer not forlorn
Shall turn aside,
Content to leave her million flowers unborn,
Her songs untried.

Drowsy with life and not with sleep or death
I dream of thee:
Breathe forth thy being in one answering breath,
And come to me!

Come forth, Beloved! Love's exultant sign
Is in the sky:
And let me lay my panting heart to thine