Tell me, ye Zephyrs! that unfold,
While fluttering o'er this gay Recess,
Pinions that fanned the teeming Mold
Of Eden's blissful Wilderness,
Did ever their light Effluence play
Around a flower so fair as this?
What flower is this? What Flower of earth
Hath all such ardent beauties in its frame?
What wondrous Virtue doth its form contain,
To bloom so bright and so unearthly fair?
—See it glow,
Glowing there with a deep, abiding light,
That on the brow of midnight cannot fade,
Nor vanish at the touch of morning's tear!
—Or let me hail thee in a tenderer strain,
And wonder whether long-drawn sighs might bring
Some Angel down, to bless the loveliest thing
That shapes itself in Nature's ever-radiant face!