Iv

Ay, let me breathe hot scents that tell of you: The hoary catnip and the meadow-mint, On which the honor of your touch doth print Itself as odor. Let me drink the hue Of ironweed and mist-flower here that hint With purple and blue, The rapture that your presence doth imbue Their inmost essence with, Immortal, though as transient as a myth.