To the Ladies Who Saw Me Crown’d
What is there in the universal earth
More lovely than a wreath from the bay tree?
Haply a halo round the moon–a glee
Circling from three sweet pair of lips in mirth;
And haply you will say the dewy birth
Of morning roses–riplings tenderly
Spread by the halcyon’s breast upon the sea–
But these comparisons are nothing worth.
Then is there nothing in the world so fair?
The silvery tears of April?–Youth of May?
Or June that breathes out life for butterflies?
No–none of these can from my favorite bear
Away the palm; yet shall it ever pay
Due reverence to your most sovreign eyes.
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