Only page of title Easy
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Thy gentle name in every breeze
That lispeth through the young-leaved trees,
New raimented in white and green
Of bloom and leaf to crown thee queen; --
And, as in odorous chorus, all
The orchard-blossoms sweetly call
Even as a singing voice that saith
Elizabeth! Elizabeth!
In deep, cool shadows of thy hair,
Thy face maintaineth its repose. --
Is it, O sister of the rose,
So better, sweeter, blooming thus
Than in this briery world with us? --
Where frost o'ertaketh, and the breath
Of biting winter harrieth
With sleeted rains and blighting snows
All fairest blooms -- Elizabeth!
