Wine-Warm Winds That Sigh And Sing, Led Me, Wrapped In Many Moods, Thro' The Green Sonorous Woods Of Belated Spring; Till I Came Where, Glad With Heat, Waste And Wild The Fields Were Strewn, Olden As The Olden Moon, At My Weary Feet; Wild And White With Starry Bloom, One Far Milky-Way That Dashed, When Some Mad Wind O'Er It Flashed, Into Billowy Foam. I, Bewildered, Gazed Around, As One On Whose Heavy Dreams Comes A Sudden Burst Of Beams, Like A Mighty Sound. If The Grander Flowers I Sought, But These Berry-Blooms To You, Evanescent As Their Dew, Only These I Brought. July 3, 1887.