Sonnet (I)

Sonnet (I)

How beautiful doth the morning rise
O'er the hills, as from her bower a bride
Comes brightened — blushing with the shame-faced pride
Of love that now consummated supplies

All her full heart can wish, and to the eyes
Dear are the flowers then, in their green haunts spied,
Glist ning with dew: pleasant at noon the side
Of shadowy mountains ridging to the skies:

At eve 'tis sweet to hear the breeze advance
Through the responding forest dense and tall;
And sweeter in the moonlight is the dance

And natural music of the waterfall:
And yet we feel not the full charm of all,
Till love be near us with his magic glance.