More sweet than all the buds that blow
Where summer’ s rarest roses grow,
More splendid than white lily spires,
Or shining, scarlet poppy fires,
Love’ s fragrant flower,— even so,
The blossom of the heart’ s desires.
And richer than all fields enfold
Or all earth’ s burdened branches hold,
Than any autumn vintage red,
Or yellow sheaves new harvested,
Love’ s ripened fruit of mellow gold,
The sum of life, when all is said.