"Marie, arise!"

Marie, arise, my indolent sweet saint!
Long since the skylark sang his morning stave,
Long since the nightingale, love's gentle slave,
Carolled upon the thorn his love-complaint.

Arise! come see the tender grass besprent
With dew-pearls, and your rose with blossoms brave.
Come see the dainty pinks to which you gave
Last eve their water with a care so quaint.

Last eve you swore and pledged your shining eyes
Sooner than I this morning you would rise,
But dawn's soft beauty-sleep, with sweet disguising,

Still gently seals those eyes — that now I kiss
And now again — and now this breast, and this,
A hundred times, to teach you early rising!