To a Lady, LXXXIV

It was the holy Easter-day, And Nature, like an infant lay, When soft its breathing comes and goes, No sound, no stir, but cool repose. A calm soft sleep was in the air, And every breeze, that whisper’d there, Came sweet as from a seraph’s mouth, With odours from the sunny South. And so the garden-walks along I saunter’d pleas’d, and humming song, And knew that Heaven itself above, Did keep with Earth that feast of Love.