Her harvests gathered and her wines distilled,
And all fair robes laid by for festal spring,
The year sits down her argosies to build
That shall from Orient climes sweet traffic bring.
With wistful smiles she sets them all afloat,
Beneath blue skies soft veiled with gathering mist —
Like tears that rise in mother-eyes that note
The dear girl-face some beckoning love has kissed —
And says: "Go forth where rarest lilies bloom!
Bear spice and perfume from the nether seas!
When silent grows the winter’s crashing loom
Return, with all the joy of buds and bees!"