A little seed lay underneath the ground,

While from the south a mild wind-current blew,

And from the tropics to the northward flew

Long, angular lines of wild-fowl with a sound

Of silken wings. About that time the sun

Put forth a shining finger, and did stir

The sleeping soil to effort; whereupon

The seed made roots like webs of gossamer,

Shot up a stem, and flourished leaf and flower.

Now look, O sweet! see what your eyes have done

With just one ray of their mysterious power

Upon the germ of my heart's passion thrown!

Through all my frame steal roots of pure desire:

My dreams are blooms that shake and shine like fire.