Song for a Viola d'Amore

The lady of my choice is brightAs a clematis at the touch of night,As a white clematis with a purple heartWhen twilight cuts earth and sun apart.Through the dusking garden I hear her voiceAsa smooth, sweet, wandering, windy noise,And I see her stand as a ghost may doIn answer to a rendez-vousLong sought with agony and prayer.So watching her, I see her there.

I sit beneath a quiet treeAnd watch her everlastingly.The garden may or may not beBefore my eyes, I cannot see.But darkness drifting up and downDivides to let her silken gownGleam there beside the clematis.How marvellously white it is!Five white blossoms and she are thereLike candles in a fluttering airEscaping from a tower stair.

Be still you cursed, rattling leaf,This is no time to think of grief.

The night is soft, and fire-fliesAre very casual, gay, and wise,And they have made a tiny gleeJust where the clematis and sheAre standing. Since the sky is clear,Do they suppose that, once a year,The moon and five white stars appearWalking the earth; that, so attended,Diana came and condescendedTo hold speech with EndymionBefore she came at last alone.

The lady of my choice is brightAs a clematis at the fall of night.Her voice is honeysuckle sweet,Her presence spreads an April heatBefore the going of her feet.She is of perfectness complete.The lady whom my heart perceivesAs a clematis above its leaves,As a purple-hearted clematis.And what is lovelier than that is?