Soft-throated south, breathing of summer’s ease
(Sweet breath, whereof the violet ’s life is made!)
Through lips moist-warm, as thou hadst lately stayed
’Mong rosebuds, wooing to the cheeks of these
Loth blushes faint and maidenly,—rich breeze,
Still doth thy honeyed blowing bring a shade
Of sad foreboding. In thy hand is laid
The power...