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Poem	The storm hath blown thee a lover, sweet, And laid him kneeling at thy feet. But, -- guerdon rich for favor rare! The wind hath all thy holy hair To kiss and to sing through and to flare Like torch-flames in the passionate air, About thee, O Miranda. Eyes in a blaze, eyes in a daze, Bold with love, cold with amaze, Chaste-thrilling eyes, fast-filling eyes With daintiest tears of love's surprise, Ye draw my soul unto your blue As warm skies draw the exhaling dew, Divine eyes of Miranda. And if I were yon stolid stone, Thy tender arm doth lean upon, Thy touch would turn me to a heart, And I would palpitate and start, -- Content, when thou wert gone, to be A dumb rock by the lonesome sea Forever, O Miranda.
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