My Lady walks as I have seen a swan Swim where a glory on the water shone: There ends of willow branches ride, Quivering in the flowing tide, By the deep river's side. Fresh beauties, howsoe'er she moves, are stirred: As the sunned bosom of a humming bird At each pant lifts some fiery hue, Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue; The same, yet ever new. What time she walks beneath the flowering May, Quite sure am I the scented blossoms say, "O Lady with the sunlit hair! Stay and drink our odorous air, The incense that we bear: "Thy beauty, Lady, we would ever shade; For near to thee, our sweetness might not fade." And could the trees be broken-hearted, The green sap surely must have smarted, When my Lady parted. How beautiful she is! A glorious gem She shines above the summer diadem Of flowers! And when her light is seen Among them, all in reverence lean To her, their tending Queen. A man so poor that want assaults his health, Blessed with relief one morn in boundless wealth, Breathes no such joy as mine, when she Stands statelier, expecting me, Than tall white lilies be: And the white flutter of her robe to trace, Where clematis and jasmine interlace, Expands my gaze triumphantly: Even such his gaze, who sees on high His flag, for victory. We wander forth unconsciously, because The azure beauty of the evening draws; When sober hues pervade the ground, And universal life is drowned Into hushed depths of sound. We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray, And force sweet pauses on our walk; I lift one with my foot, and talk About its leaves and stalk. Or maybe that some thorn or prickly stem Will take a prisoner her long garments' hem; To disentangle it I kneel, Oft wounding more than I can heal; It makes her laugh, my zeal. Or on before a thin-legged robin hops, And leaping on a twig, he pertly stops, Speaking a few clear notes, till nigh We draw, when briskly he will fly Into a bush close by. A flock of goldfinches arrest their flight, And wheeling round a birchen tree alight Deep in its glittering leaves; and stay Till scared at our approach, when they Strike with vexed trills away. I recollect My Lady in the wood, Keeping her breath, while peering as she stood There, balanced lightly on tiptoe, To mark a nest built snug below, Leaves shadowing her brow. I recollect her puzzled, asking me, What that strange tapping in the wood might be? I told of gourmand thrushes, which, To feast on morsels oosy rich, Cracked poor snails' curling niche. And then, as knight led captive, in romance, Through postern and dark passage, past grim glance Of arms; where from throned state the dame He loved, in sumptuous blushes came To him held dumb for shame: