To bring some darling mystery into form:
Beauty her fairest Possible would dress
In colors pure and warm.

Within the depths of palpitating seas
A tender tint;--anon a line of grace
Some lovely thought from its dull atom frees,
The coming joy to trace;--

A pencilled moss on tablets of the sand,
Such as shall veil the unbudded maiden-blush
Of beauty yet to gladden the green land;--
A breathing, through the hush,

Of some sealed perfume longing to burst out
And give its prisoned rapture to the air;--
A brooding hope, a promise through a doubt
Is whispered everywhere.

And, every dawn a shade more clear, the skies
A flush as from the heart of heaven disclose:
Through earth and sea and air a message flies,
Prophetic of the Rose.

At last a morning comes of sunshine still,
When not a dew-drop trembles on the grass;
When all winds sleep, and every pool and rill
Is like a burnished glass

Where a long-looked-for guest may lean to gaze;