Her Atmosphere

What of her soul's immaculate atmosphere,
Which all who know her breathe; which he knows best
Whose heart her love transfigured, saved, and blest?
Buoyant as is the spring of the young year;
Tender as twilight when the moon is near;
Ardent as noon, and deep as midnight's rest;
Pure as the air on heights no foot has prest.
That unto Heaven aspire, to Heaven are dear; —

A rareness and a fragrance and a sweetness,
A wonder and a glory without bound, —
Such is her atmosphere's divine completeness,
A moving Paradise of sight and sound.
Blest She, in whom dear Heaven, dear Earth
combine —
How shall they reach her, these weak words of mine?