If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me, br This is what my songs would be: br Hints of our sea-breezes, blent br With odors from the Orient; br Indian vessels deep with spice; br Star-showers from the Norland ice; br Wine-red jewels that seem to hold br Fire, but only burn with cold; br Antique goblets, strangely wrought, br Filled with the wine of happy thought, br Bridal measure, vain regrets, br Laburnum buds and violets; br Hopeful as the break of day; br Clear as crystal; new as May; br Musical as brooks that run br O'er yellow shallows in the sun; br Soft as the satin fringe that shades br The eyelids of thy Devon maids; br Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are, br And polished as the bosom of a star.