I

When southern winds sowed woods and skies, Angelica! With bloom-storms of the flowering May; When hill and battle-field were gay With peace and purity of flowers, I sat to dream Beside a stream amid the bowers, Clear as the deeps of thy blue eyes: And near the stream I saw a grotto banked with flowers, From which the streamlet fell in showers, Cool-sparkling through the sunlit bowers, Angelica!