There, where the sun shines first <br />Against our room, <br />She train'd the gold Azalea, whose perfume <br />She, Spring-like, from her breathing grace dispersed. <br />Last night the delicate crests of saffron bloom, <br />For this their dainty likeness watch'd and nurst, <br />Were just at point to burst. <br />At dawn I dream'd, O God, that she was dead, <br />And groan'd aloud upon my wretched bed, <br />And waked, ah, God, and did not waken her, <br />But lay, with eyes still closed, <br />Perfectly bless'd in the delicious sphere <br />By which I knew so well that she was near, <br />My heart to speechless thankfulness composed. <br />Till 'gan to stir <br />A dizzy somewhat in my troubled head-- <br />It was the azalea's breath, and she was dead! <br />The warm night had the lingering buds disclosed, <br />And I had fall'n asleep with to my breast <br />A chance-found letter press'd <br />In which she said, <br />'So, till to-morrow eve, my Own, adieu! <br />Parting's well-paid with soon again to meet, <br />Soon in your arms to feel so small and sweet, <br />Sweet to myself that am so sweet to you!'<br /><br />Coventry Patmore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-azalea-2/
