IMORTELLE
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My glorious
enchantress,
She went in silken hose,
With swaying hip and curving lip
And little tilted nose,
As full of fragrant fire |
5 |
As
any English rose.
Her
voice across the morning,
Like olden balladry
Or magic notes from woodland throats,
It laid a spell on me
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10 |
As
wondrous as the west wind
And haunting as the sea.
She
might have walked with Chaucer
A-jesting all the way,
Her figure trim a joy to him,
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15 |
Her
beauty like the day,
With that unfailing spirit
Which nothing can dismay.
Her
heart was full of caring,
Her eyes were touched with dream.
|
20 |
In
happy birth, in noble worth,
I thought that she did seem
As fair as Kentish roses
And rich as Devon cream.
I
loved her airy carriage
|
25 |
Her
bearing clean and proud,
When glad and fond she looked beyond
The plaudits of the crowd,
Or when in prayer or sorrow
Her comely head was bowed. |
30 |
I loved her eerie piping
Of measures without name.
Wild as a faun at rosy dawn,
Out of the crowd she came
To breathe upon old altars |
35 |
A
fresh untroubled flame.
I
loved her lyric ardor
Her chosen words and dress,
Her dryad’s face, her yielding grace,
Her glowing waywardness, |
40 |
Her
deep adoring passion
No careless eye would guess.
And all the while as lovely
As early daffodils,
When woodland Spring comes blossoming
|
45 |
Among
the Western hills,
And from her trailing garments
A mystic glory spills.
O sorceress
of raptures
Beyond the dream of art,
|
50 |
Be still
our guide to walk beside
And choose the better part,—
Thou lyric of enchantment,
Thou flower of Nature’s heart! |
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