A BUD borne down on a summer stream,
A meadow gleaming in the sun,
A robin perched on a topmost limb,
A harvest moon through a forest dun,
A boat adrift on a waveless sea,
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A dream of Venice flitting by, -
These beauties all I now recall,
As I look in your deep blue eye!
A quiet smile on a rosy cheek;
A modesty, grace, and wit that blend;
A glance drawn up from the nethermost heart, -
There is the portrait of my friend!
A peasant's heart may thrill and throb
As he catches the words of a lady's song, -
He at his work in the meadow lands,
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Fact and Rumor.
