AMBERGRIS 
13 
Never cheeks shall dimple over 
At the perfume of the clover. 
Never bosoms bright and round 
Shall be garlanded and bound 
With the chain of myrtle, wreathed 
By the fingers of the maid 
Each has chosen for a mate, 
When the west wind lately breathed 
Murmurs in the wanton glade 
Of the day that dawneth late 
In a maiden’s horoscope, 
Dawning faith and fire and hope 
On the spring that only knew 
Flowers and butterflies and dew, 
Skies and seas and mountains blue, 
On the spring that wot not of 
Fruit and falling leaves and love. 
Never dew-dashed foreheads fair 
Shall salute the idle air. 
Never shall we wander deep 
Where the fronds of fern, asleep, 
Kiss her rosy feet that pass 
On the spangled summer grass, 
Half awake, and drowse again. 
Never more our feet shall stain 
Purple with the joyous grape, 
Whence there rose a fairy shape 
In the fume and must and juice, 
Singing lest our eyes escape 
All his tunic wried and loose 
With the feet that softly trod 
In the vat the fairy god. 
Never more our eyes shall swim 
Looking for the love of him 
In the magic moon that bent 
Over maidens moon-content, 
When the summer woods were wet 
With our dewy songs, that set 
Quivering all seas and snows,