Book 1 — III
Reading edition
SAINT LUCY OF THE EYES
[Taken from the Journals of Travel written by Stephen Douglas, sometime of Culsharg in Galloway.]
I.
O mellow rain upon the clover tops; O breath of morning blown o'er meadow-sweet; Lush apple-blooms from which the wild bee drops Inebriate; O hayfield scents, my feet
Scatter abroad some morning in July; O wildwood odours of the birch and pine, And heather breaths from great red hill-tops nigh, Than olive sweeter or Sicilian vine;—
Not all of you, nor summer lands of balm— Not blest Arabia, Nor coral isles in seas of tropic calm. Such heart's desire into my heart can draw.
II.
O scent of sea on dreaming April morn Borne landward on a steady-blowing wind; O August breeze, o'er leagues of rustling corn, Wafts of clear air from uplands left behind,
And outbreathed sweetness of wet wallflower bed, O set in mid-May depth of orchard close, Tender germander blue, geranium red; O expressed sweetness of sweet briar-rose;
Too gross, corporeal, absolute are ye, Ye help not to define That subtle fragrance, delicate and free, Which like a vesture clothes this Love of mine.
"Heart's Delight."