To the Ladies who Saw Me Crowned

What is there in the universal earth

   More lovely than a wreath from the bay tree?

   Haply a halo round the moon, a glee

Circling from three sweet pair of lips in mirth;

And haply you will say the dewy birth

   Of morning roses, ripplings tenderly

   Spread by the halcyon's breast upon the sea—

But these comparisons are nothing worth.

Then is there nothing in the world so fair?

   The silvery tears of April? Youth of May?

Or June that breathes out life for butterflies?

   No—none of these can from my favourite bear

Away the palm; yet shall it ever pay

   Due reverence to your most sovereign eyes.