IF of those feet my eyes might catch one gleam

(Her footstep bears the silver note of dawn)

—White-dove-attended, who. but She was borne

Cythera-ward, in foam-kissed car of dream ?

Grant this bowed head to feel Her passing hem

(Whose faring stars with blossom all the Spring),

Such term less joy the unglimpsed feet shall bring—

How name the flower, if this be but the stem ?