Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By William WilberforceLord406 To Rosina Pico
R
Strains from the passionate land, where shapes of art
Make music of the wind that passes o’er,
Thou even here hast found the human heart;
And in a thousand hearts thy songs repeat
Their echoes, like remembered poesy sweet,
Witching the soul to warble evermore.
Had taken shape, and stood before our sight;
Thy aspect filled the silence with sweet pain
That made it long for death. O creature bright!
Or ere the trembling silence had ta’en flight
We listened to thy looks, in hushed delight,
And from thy motions sought a sound to gain.
Of golden sound, in many an eddying tone,
As pours the wind into a breathless wood,
Awakening in it music not its own;
Thy voice controlled all spirits to one mood,
Before all eyes one breathing image stood
Beheld, as if to thee all eyes had grown.
With thee to stand upon enchanted ground,
And gazed on thee, as if the sculptured stone
Should live before me, (so thy magic bound
My soul, bewildered) while a cloud of sound,
Rising in wreaths, upon the air around
Lingered like incense from a censer thrown.