With what a calm serenity she smooths
Her way thro’ cloudless jasper sown with stars!
Chaster than virtue, sweeter than sweet truths
Of maidenhood, in Spenser’s knightly wars.
For what is all Belphœbe’s golden hair,
The chastity of Britomart, the love
Of Florimel so faithful and so fair,
To thee, thou Wonder! And yet far above
Thy inoffensive beauty must I hold
Dear Una, sighing for the Red-cross Knight
Thro’ all her losses, crosses manifold.
And when the lordly lion fell in fight,
Who, who can paragon her tearful woe?
Not thou, O Moon! didst ever passion so.
The Luggie.