I
When southern winds sowed woods and skies,
Angelica!
With bloom-storms of the flowering May;
When hill and battle-field were gay
With peace and purity of flowers,
I sat to dream
Beside a stream amid the bowers,
Clear as the deeps of thy blue eyes:
And near the stream
I saw a grotto banked with flowers,
From which the streamlet fell in showers,
Cool-sparkling through the sunlit bowers,
Angelica!