O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western… — William Blake Copy Share Image
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter… — William Blake Copy Share Image
Reviving Spring, a toast to thy fresh lips! Thy blush is music, and e'en heaven lurks In thy thick perfumed hair that… — William Batchelder Greene Copy Share Image
