To E. C. S. With a Rose From Conway Castle
On hoary Conway’s battlemented height,
O poet-heart, I pluck for thee a rose!
Through arch and court the sweet wind wandering goes;
Round each high tower the rooks, in airy flight,
Circle and wheel, all bathed in amber light;
Low at my feet the winding river flows;
Valley and town, entranced in deep repose,
War doth no more appall, nor foes affright!
Thou knowest how softly on the castle walls,
Where mosses creep, and ivys far and free
Fling forth their pennants to the freshening breeze,
Like God’s own benizon this sunshine falls.
Therefore, O friend, across the sundering seas
Fair Conway sends this sweet wild rose to thee!