O’er Dyved’s hills there was a veil
In ancient days[1]—(so runs the tale);
And such a canopy to me
This court, among the woods, shall be;
Where she, my heart adores, shall reign,
The princess of the fair domain.
To her, and to her poet’s eyes,
This arbour seems a paradise;
Its every branch is deftly strung
With twigs and foliage lithe and young,
And when May comes upon the trees
To paint her verdant liveries,
Gold on each thread-like sprig will glow,
To honour her who reigns below.
Green is that arbour to behold,
And on its withes thick showers of gold!
Joy to the poet and the maid,
Whose paradise is yonder shade!
Oh! flowers of noblest splendour, these
Are summer’s frost-work on the trees!
A field the lovers now possess,
With saffron o’er its verdure roll’d,
A house of passing loveliness,
A fabric of Arabia’s gold—
Bright golden tissue, glorious tent,
Of him who rules the firmament,
With roof of various colours blent!
- ↑ This seems to refer to some obscure tradition.
‘O’er Dyved’s hills there was a veil
In ancient days.’
