Henry Alford

Sonnet LXXVIII. "Friend of my heart, here in my close green bower"

Friend of my heart, here in my close green bower I wait thy coming: slender clematis And the rank wild--vine, with late primroses, And classic tea--tree with small purple flower, Are here, and foxglove with its bearded bell, Haunt of the passing bee: and thy delight, The lily of the valley, purest white, Rising like fabled nymph from ocean--shell. Nor wanting is Canova's art divine: On the rude trunk, native in earth below, The god of gladness, garlanded with vine, And Ariadne re--assured from woe; And the full noon, by leafy screen delayed, Has spread the pebbled floor with fickle shade.