To Rosina Pico

Regent of song! who bringest to our shore   Strains from the passionate land, where shapes of art Make music of the wind that passes o’er,   Thou even here hast found the human heart; And in a thousand hearts thy songs repeat Their echoes, like remembered poesy sweet, Witching the soul to warble evermore. First seen, it seemed as if thy sweetest strain   Had taken shape, and stood before our sight; Thy aspect filled the silence with sweet pain   That made it long for death. O creature bright! Or ere the trembling silence had ta’en flight We listened to thy looks, in hushed delight, And from thy motions sought a sound to gain. Then on all hearts at once did pour a flood   Of golden sound, in many an eddying tone, As pours the wind into a breathless wood,   Awakening in it music not its own; Thy voice controlled all spirits to one mood, Before all eyes one breathing image stood   Beheld, as if to thee all eyes had grown. Yet did I seem to be with thee alone,   With thee to stand upon enchanted ground, And gazed on thee, as if the sculptured stone   Should live before me, (so thy magic bound My soul, bewildered) while a cloud of sound, Rising in wreaths, upon the air around Lingered like incense from a censer thrown.