As music out of silence, Craig, so came
Thy love from mystery; so, darling, now
The lilies are less radiant than thy brow,
On which my heart beholds celestial flame.
Thou art all white, my queen; there is no name
In all the lore of love for such as thou;
The moon s wan breast, the foam beneath the prow,
The cherry bloom—thou bringest them to shame!

Thou art too fair! How shall I worship thee,
Thou sister of the dawn? How cry thy praise?
Nay! tho' I sing thro' many dusks and days
I cannot tell with words thy gift to me,
Who, ere Heaven's crystal gleamed beneath my feet,
Hast made the tale of all its bliss complete.