Edward Dowden

“ Passion and song, and the adornèd hours
Of floral loveliness, hopes grown most sweet,
And generous patience in the ripening heat,
A mother's bosom, a bride's face of flowers,
— Knows nature aught so fair? ”

“ For a small world embowered and close,
⁠Of which ye some time were a part.
The dew-drench'd flowers, the child's glad eyes,
⁠Your joy unhuman shall control,
And in your wings a light and wind
⁠Shall move from the maestro's soul. ”