Poems / by James G. Percival [electronic text]

Here the Air is Sweet.

HERE the air is sweet, Fresh from the roses newly blowing; Here the waters meet, Down the grassy valley flowing; Here the bands of ivy twine, Here the bells in yellow shine On the flowering gelsemine, Round the woven trellice growing.

Here the flitting breeze Wafts afar the musky treasure, And the wanton bees Sip the honied fount of pleasure; Here the loving spirits dwell, Here they sit, and weave their spell, And within the blossom's bell Tune their soul-dissolving measure.

Here the wind is balm, Laden with the breath of roses; Here the air is calm, And the sleeping noon-flower closes; Now the sun is setting bright, And his arch of purple light Heralding the summer night, Earth in dreams of bliss reposes.

Here's a magic bower— O'er it budding vines are creeping, And a dewy shower, By a bank of turf is steeping; Though the fallen winds are mute, Faintly from the sweet-blown flute, Tones, that with the stillness suit, Harmonies of love are keeping.

I am here alone— Far has fled my flowery dreaming, All its beauty flown Like a bow by moonlight gleaming, Fancy's day of love is o'er, All its rich and golden store Ne'er can charm my spirit more With its false, but fairy seeming.