SWEET is the grace of beauty, and it holds The imprisoned earth within its radiant folds. It steals upon us like the rosy hue Of morning's blush; and while the sweet cool dew Moistens and freshens the dead grass of our hope, It bursts like love-stars on our horoscope. Like Dian's locks, her flashing charms deter Yet make the light by which we worship her. The eyes of children, flute notes of a bird, Flowers that 'round them beading dewdrops gird, Skies of blue and gold at wedding morn, Lips that touch when sweet young love is born, These strew her pathway, Iris-crowned they rise When beauty's sun lights up life's 'wakening skies. |