Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/116

Rh

With blue waves but as guardians set, Wearing them like a coronet; Once sacred to the smile-zoned Queen, Whose reign upon the heart hath been, And is so still. What need hath she Of shrine to her divinity? Each fair face is her visible shrine; She hath been, she will be divine. But, rose-lipp'd, thy sweet power Was unown'd in thy myrtle bower, Thy marble temple was no more, Thy worship gone from thine own shore, What time my tale begins: yet still Hadst thou left music in the rill, As if 't had heard thy footstep fall, And from that time grew musical;