The Cuckoo and Wistaria

See the fair maid expectant stand,
All in the golden morning light.
Mirror-case held in tiny hand,
Whose lids have veiled its surface bright.
Peach-tinted cheeks and smile-curved brows,
Graceful as arching willow boughs.

On the high twin peaks of the hill,
Through the mist-scattered deep green vales,
Loud rings the cuckoo's note and clear,
Or near the moonlit moorland wails.
Darts he through rippling fuji-blooms,
Through the wing-shaken perfumed showers
Of scattered petals. Thence I cull
A fragrant spray of well-loved flowers.

The purple wavelets in my sleeve
I place—and if, all fair to see
Yet they should stain its surface bright,
What care I? Purple let it be!