Hesperides

IF thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me,

This is what my songs would be:

Hints of our sea-breezes, blent

With odors from the Orient;

Indian vessels deep with spice;

Star-showers from the Norland ice;

Wine-red jewels that seem to hold

Fire, but only burn with cold;

Antique goblets, strangely wrought,

Filled with the wine of happy thought,

Bridal measure, vain regrets,

Laburnum buds and violets;

Hopeful as the break of day;

Clear as crystal; new as May;

Musical as brooks that run

O'er yellow shallows in the sun;

Soft as the satin fringe that shades

The eyelids of thy Devon maids;

Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are,

And polished as the bosom of a star.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Index to poems in the collection by Thomas Bailey Aldrich