I lingered through the night to break of day,

Nor once did sleep extend a wing to me,

Intently busied with a vast array

Of epithets that should outfigure thee.

Full-featured terms—all fitless—hastened by,

And this sole speech remained: “That maiden mine!”—

Debarred from due description then did I

Perceive the indefinite phrase could yet define.

As common chests encasing wares of price

Are borne with tenderness through halls of state,

For what they cover, so the poor device

Of homely wording I could tolerate,

Knowing its unadornment held as freight

The sweetest image outside Paradise.

W. P. V.,

Summer: 1866.