The Storm Hath Blown Thee A Lover, Sweet, And Laid Him Kneeling At Thy Feet. But, - Guerdon Rich For Favor Rare! The Wind Hath All Thy Holy Hair To Kiss And To Sing Through And To Flare Like Torch-Flames In The Passionate Air, About Thee, O Miranda. Eyes In A Blaze, Eyes In A Daze, Bold With Love, Cold With Amaze, Chaste-Thrilling Eyes, Fast-Filling Eyes With Daintiest Tears Of Love'S Surprise, Ye Draw My Soul Unto Your Blue As Warm Skies Draw The Exhaling Dew, Divine Eyes Of Miranda. And If I Were Yon Stolid Stone, Thy Tender Arm Doth Lean Upon, Thy Touch Would Turn Me To A Heart, And I Would Palpitate And Start, - Content, When Thou Wert Gone, To Be A Dumb Rock By The Lonesome Sea Forever, O Miranda. Baltimore, 1874.