A LOVER is a slender, glowing urn On beauty's shrine, his heart is incense sweet, Which with his eye-lit torch young love doth burn; Then from its ardour cloudy ringlets fleet, That we call sighs, and they with perfume turn Upwards, his mistress' whisperings to meet. The breezy whispers and the sighs embrace, Like pink-wing'd clouds mixing above the hill, And from their lovely toyings spring a race Of tears, which saunter down in cheek-bank'd rill, Silvering with sparkling coil the fair one's face; Twin dew-drops which her startled senses spill From violet's eyes, that hide their tender hue Deep-caverned in a fringed lake of blue. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO THE BROWN PAPER BAG by JAMES GALVIN ONE'S-SELF I SING by WALT WHITMAN MYRTILLA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FIRST AMERICAN CONGRESS by JOEL BARLOW ASPIRATIONS: 11 by MATHILDE BLIND |