My eyes whirl glad, rapt in awe
Upon that darling rose of may
That budding sweet beyond my door
Doth **** the troubles away
Its beauty ever subtle, mock
Tyrants cruel and ugly hand
Cruel contrive to condemn the clock
But Rose in bud on oppressed sand
At noon, a sight on which to swoon!
Poet wooed, she deem
This Rose be no mere mortal bud
But Nature's crown craft by Gods dream