English poem
Her steps fall sweet as summer rain...
by Theodore H. Rand (1835–1900)
Her steps fall sweet as summer rain . . . . . . . . And lull to dream the thoughts of pain,— O glowing grass, O violet skyey, Ye hint of something of fairer grain!
She outruns sympathy of crowds; Her dwelling is above the clouds; She stoops to kiss the rose to crimson— Her face no featureless mask enshrouds.
Her chatelaine's of amber fine; No hue of coming autumn's wine But she outpours from tawny beaker, And fills each grape of the swelling vine.