To The Ladies Who Saw Me Crown’d

What is there in the universal earth More lovely than a wreath from the bay tree? Haply a halo round the moon–a glee Circling from three sweet pair of lips in mirth; And haply you will say the dewy birth Of morning roses–riplings tenderly Spread by the halcyon’s breast upon the sea– But these comparisons are nothing worth. Then is there nothing in the world so fair? The silvery tears of April?–Youth of May? Or June that breathes out life for butterflies? No–none of these can from my favorite bear Away the palm; yet shall it ever pay Due reverence to your most sovreign eyes.