from Heart of Love

The dew is on the apple tree,
the frost is on the faerie-bells.
But none may ask what Madeleine
so fleeting saw upon the vine
decanting trumpets, as if wine
from their sweet-bosomed flower-wells;
she is a silent sea.
Her secrecy sails
under the veils of the knee;
her piracy
the beguilement of infancy.

Her bed is in the incense grove
between the petals of a rose;
her ivies grow where crickets chatter,
the lattice of a living ladder!
Twined with a daisy-dress,
thrift of the governess;
her re-enchantment underhand,
ambassador to faerieland!

Beneath a dandy-cap dwells
the spirit of Kells;
sweet-spiced as the cinnamon,
her home in the jessamine!
Immortally shy,
unseen to the eye,
how furtive and sweet
those timorous feet!
Where dragons do fly
on lilac-laced wing,
her moonlight enchantment
the garden to ring.
How swift and how fleet
those timorous feet,
how utter contrary
the garden of faerie!

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