I saw thee once- once only- years ago:
I must not say how many- but not
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that like thine own
Sought a precipitate pathway up through
There fell a silvery silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness and
Upon the upturn’d faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on
Fell on the upturn’d faces of these
That gave out, in return for the love-
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic
Fell on the upturned faces of these
That smiled and died in this parterre,
by thee, and by the poetry of thy










