Song for a Viola d'Amore

The lady of my choice is bright

As a clematis at the touch of night,

As a white clematis with a purple heart
When twilight cuts earth and sun apart.
Through the dusking garden I hear her voice
As a smooth, sweet, wandering, windy noise,
And I see her stand as a ghost may do
In answer to a rendez-vous

Long sought with agony and prayer.

So watching her, I see her there.

I sit beneath a quiet tree
And watch her everlastingly.
The garden may or may not be

Before my eyes, I cannot see.

But darkness drifting up and down
Divides to let her silken gown
Gleam there beside the clematis.
How marvellously white it is!
Five white blossoms and she are there
Like candles in a fluttering air

Escaping from a tower stair.

Be still you cursed, rattling leaf,
This is no time to think of grief.
The night is soft, and fire-flies

Are very casual, gay, and wise,

And they have made a tiny glee

Just where the clematis and she

Are standing. Since the sky is clear,
Do they suppose that, once a year,
The moon and five white stars appear

Walking the earth; that, so attended,
Diana came and condescended
To hold speech with Endymion

Before she came at last alone.

The lady of my choice is bright

As a clematis at the fall of night.
Her voice is honeysuckle sweet,
Her presence spreads an April heat
Before the going of her feet.

She is of perfectness complete.
The lady whom my heart perceives
As a clematis above its leaves,

As a purple-hearted clematis.

And what is lovelier than that is?