In latest June, when giant gentians bold
        Unhood themselves and break to sudden flower,
        Manning the galleries of each sturdy tower
With saffron-starry shields and spikes of gold,
I wandering found a wonder to behold,
        A tufted thing that wove a silken bower
        For fairies, frightened by a summer shower,
Or tender sprites that feared the dewy cold.

Anon it seemed a humming-bird’s soft nest,
    Anon a living sea-flower, such as grow
        In tropic waters when the waves are still;
I knew not, in its silken seed-coat drest,
        The May’s most lovely daughter of the hill,
    The wind-flower with its petals white as snow.

(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. 157)