To Emma by John Keats

With love-looking eyes, and with voice sweetly bland.  

O come, dearest Emma! the rose is full blown,

And the riches of Flora are lavishly strown,

The air is all softness, and crystal the streams, 

And the West is resplendently clothed in beams.

 

We will hasten, my fair, to the opening glases,

The quaintly carved seats, and the freshening shades,

Where the faeries are chanting their evening hymns,

And in the last sunbeam the sylph lightly swims.

 

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed

Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head;

There, beauteous Emma, I'll sit at thy feet, 

While my story of love I enraptured repeat.

 

So fondly I'll breathe and so softly I'll sigh,

Though wilt think that some amorous Zephyr is nigh -

Ah, no! - as I breathe, I will press thy fair knee,

And then thou wilt know that the sigh comes from me.

 

Then why, lovely girl, should we lose all these blisses?

That mortal's a fool who such happiness misses.

So smile acquiescence, and give me thy hand,

With love-looking eyes, and with voice sweetly bland.