I
I see them still, when poring o'er
Old volumes of romantic lore,
Ride forth to hawk, in days of yore,
By woods and promontories:
Knights in gold-lace, plumes and gems,
Damsels crowned with anadems,--
Whose falcons perch on wrists, like milk,
In hoods and jesses of green silk,--
From bannered Miraflores.