Purple of the shadow,
Silver of the swan; —
So her locks are dark around
The neck of Alison.

Blueness of all daylight
With no cloud thereon;
But a wild high nest of birds; —
Eyes of Alison.

Wildness of bird laughter: —
Bubbles, up and gone;
With the wind's hush, after.
So is Alison.

Ah, New Moon beloved,
Will you be outshone?
Glimmer in, and look then.
Here is Alison.