THOU knowest not the parching Of summer's cruel drought; Thou seest not the marching Of snows in winter rout; But thine the emerald sod is, And flowery cups that brim, O amaranthine goddess, Beneath the rainbow rim! For thee dusk sun-rays pencil The slopings of the wold, For thee fair lilies stencil The ancient cloth of gold. Of Tyrian hue thy bodice, Thy crown the dewdrops trim, O amaranthine goddess, Beneath the rainbow rim! The breezes all pursue thee, Moved by thy virgin pride. Great Pan himself doth woo thee, And seek thee for his bride. The spot where thou hast trod is A jewel cast to him, O amaranthine goddess, Beneath the rainbow rim! |