HIS Eve of Women! She, whose mortal lot <br />Was linked to an Immortal's unaware, <br />With Love's lost Eden in her blissful air, <br />Perchance would greet him in this blessed spot. <br />No shadow of the coming days durst blot, <br />The flower-like face, so innocently fair, <br />As lip met lip, and lily arms, all bare, <br />Clung round him in a perfect lover's knot. <br /> <br />Was not this Anne the flame-like daffodil <br />Of Shakespeare's March, whose maiden beauty took <br />His senses captive? Thus the stripling brook <br />Mirrors a wild flower nodding by the mill, <br />Then grows a river in which proud cities look, <br />And with a land's load widens seaward still<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/anne-hathaway/
