Miranda

The storm hath blown thee a lover, sweet,

And laid him kneeling at thy feet.

But, -- guerdon rich for favor rare!

The wind hath all thy holy hair

To kiss and to sing through and to flare

Like torch-flames in the passionate air,

About thee, O Miranda.

Eyes in a blaze, eyes in a daze,

Bold with love, cold with amaze,

Chaste-thrilling eyes, fast-filling eyes

With daintiest tears of love's surprise,

Ye draw my soul unto your blue

As warm skies draw the exhaling dew,

Divine eyes of Miranda.

And if I were yon stolid stone,

Thy tender arm doth lean upon,

Thy touch would turn me to a heart,

And I would palpitate and start,

-- Content, when thou wert gone, to be

A dumb rock by the lonesome sea

Forever, O Miranda.