Sonnet to ———.

THOU art like that which is most sweet and fair,
A gentle morning in the youth of Spring,
When the few early birds begin to sing,
Within the delicate depths of the fine air;
Yet shouldst thou these dear beauties much impair,
Since thou art better, than is everything
Which or the woods, or skies, or green fields bring,
And finer thoughts hast thou than they can wear.
In the proud sweetness of thy grace, I see
What lies within,—a pure and steadfast mind,
Which its own mistress is, of sanctity,
And to all gentleness hath it been refined,
So that thy least thought falleth upon me
As the soft breathing of midsummer-wind.