I Mark You Coming The Accustomed Way Poem by Philip Henry Savage

I mark you coming the accustomed way,
As light as grace, your head uplift and high,
Gray subtlety of flame in either eye,
Your hair blown golden by the windy spray;
And bright about you, darting with the play
Of beams of tint most delicate and shy,
A light such as above the eastern sky
Heralds the dayspring and adorns the day;

Such crown as, when the gates of June unclose,
Plays like the veil of rose about the rose;
A snare, of grain so delicate, so mighty,
Not Ares, not Adonis might prevail.
Thou art the goddess of the golden veil,
Mistress of men, the woman Aphrodite.