Here, then, that magic summoning would cease,
Or sound far off again among the orchard trees.

And here where the blanched lilies of the vale
And violets and yellow star-flowers teem,

And pink and purple hyacinths exhale
Their heavy fume, once more to drowse and dream

My head would sink, from many an olden tale
Drawing imagination's fervid theme,

Or haply peopling this enchanting spot
Only with fair creations of fantastic thought.

For oft I think, in years long since gone by,
That gentle hearts dwelt here and gentle hands

Stored all this bowery bliss to beautify
The paradise of some unsung romance;

Here, safe from all except the loved one's eye,
'Tis sweet to think white limbs were wont to glance,

Well pleased to wanton like the flowers and share
Their simple loveliness with the enamored air.

Thrice dear to them whose votive fingers decked
The altars of First Love were these green ways, --

These lawns and verdurous brakes forever flecked
With the warm sunshine of midsummer days;

Oft where the long straight allies intersect
And marble seats surround the open space,

Where a tiled pool and sculptured fountain stand,
Hath Evening found them seated, silent, hand in hand.

When twilight deepened, in the gathering shade
Beneath that old titanic cypress row,

Whose sombre vault and towering colonnade
Dwarfed the enfolded forms that moved below,

Oft with close steps these happy lovers strayed,
Till down its darkening aisle the sunset glow

Grew less and patterning the garden floor
Faint flakes of filtering moonlight mantled more and more.

And the strange tempest that a touch imparts
Through the mid fibre of the molten frame,

When the sweet flesh in early youth asserts
Its heyday verve and little hints enflame,

Disturbed them as they walked; from their full hearts
Welled the soft word, and many a tender name

Strove on their lips as breast to breast they strained
And the deep joy they drank seemed never, never drained.

Love's soul that is the depth of starry skies
Set in the splendor of one upturned face

To beam adorably through half-closed eyes;
Love's body where the breadth of summer days

And all the beauty earth and air comprise
Come to the compass of an arm's embrace,

To burn a moment on impassioned lips
And yield intemperate joy to quivering finger-tips,

They knew; and here where morning-glories cling
Round carven forms of carefullest artifice,

They made a bower where every outward thing
Should comment on the cause of their own bliss;

With flowers of liveliest hue encompassing
That flower that the beloved body is --

That rose that for the banquet of Love's bee
Has budded all the aeons of past eternity.

But their choice seat was where the garden wall,
Crowning a little summit, far and near,

Looks over tufted treetops onto all
The pleasant outer country; rising here

From rustling foliage where cuckoos call
On summer evenings, stands a belvedere,

Buff-hued, of antiqueplaster, overrun
With flowering vines and weatherworn by rain and sun.

Still round the turrets of this antique tower
The bougainvillea hangs a crimson crown,

Wistaria-vines and clematis in flower,
Wreathing the lower surface further down,

Hide the old plaster in a very shower
Of motley blossoms like a broidered gown.

Outside, ascending from the garden grove,
A crumbling stairway winds to the one room above.

And whoso mounts by this dismantled stair
Finds the old pleasure-hall, long disarrayed,

Brick-tiled and raftered, and the walls foursquare
Ringed all about with a twofold arcade.

Backward dense branches intercept the glare
Of afternoon with eucalyptus shade;

Eastward the level valley-plains expand,
Sweet as a queen's survey of her own Fairyland.

For through that frame the ivied arches make,
Wide tracts of sunny midland charm the eye,

Frequent with hamlet, grove, and lucent lake
Where the blue hills' inverted contours lie;

Far to the east where billowy mountains break
In surf of snow against a sapphire sky,

Huge thunderheads loom up behind the ranges,
Changing from gold to pink as deepening sunset changes;

And over plain and far sierra spread
The fulgent rays of fading afternoon,

Showing each utmost peak and watershed
All clarified, each tassel and festoon

Of floating cloud embroidered overhead,
Like lotus-leaves on bluest waters strewn,

Flushing with rose, while all breathes fresh and free
In peace and amplitude and bland tranquillity.

Dear were such evenings to this gentle pair;
Love's tide that launched on with a blast too strong

Sweeps toward the foaming reef, the hidden snare,
Baffling with fond illusion's siren-song,

Too faint, on idle shoals, to linger there
Far from Youth's glowing dream, bore them along,

With purple sail and steered by seraph hands
To isles resplendent in the sunset of romance.

And out of this old house a flowery fane,
A bridal bower, a pearly pleasure-dome,

They built, and furnished it with gold and grain,
And bade all spirits of beauty hither come,

And winged Love to enter with his train
And bless their pillow, and in this his home

Make them his priests as Hero was of yore
In her sweet girlhood by the blue Dardanian shore.

Tree-ferns, therefore, and potted palms they brought,
Tripods and urns in rare and curious taste,

Polychrome chests and cabinets inwrought
With pearl and ivory etched and interlaced;

Pendant brocades with massive braid were caught,
And chain-slung, oriental" target="_blank" title="a.东方人的">oriental lamps so placed

To light the lounger on some low divan,
Sunken in swelling down and silks from Hindustan.

And there was spread, upon the ample floors,
Work of the Levantine's laborious loom,

Such as by Euxine or Ionian shores
Carpets the dim seraglio's scented gloom.

Each morn renewed, the garden's flowery stores
Blushed in fair vases, ochre and peach-bloom,

And little birds through wicker doors left wide