III.

All wit that this child of the morning light Was queen of the morn and them, That the orient star in his beams of white Was her prince in a diadem; For lavish he showered those pearls that flash And cluster the front of her smock; From his lordly fingers of rays did dash Down zephyrs her crib to rock. But a jessamine pale 'neath the arbor grew, Meek, selfless, and sweet, and a virgin true.