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“A lady, graced with solitude, who went Singing, and setting flower by flower apart, By which the path she walked on was besprent.

‘Ah, my lady beautiful, that basking art In beams of love, if I may trust thy face, Which useth to bear witness of the heart, Let liking come on thee,’ said I, ‘to trace Thy path a little closer to the shore, Where I may reap the hearing of thy lays. Thy mindest me, how Proserpine of yore Appeared in such a place, what time her mother Lost her, and she the spring, for evermore.’                                                                 

As, pointing downwards and to one another Her feet, a lady bendeth in the dance, And barely setteth one before the other, Thus, on the scarlet and the saffron glance Of flowers, with motion maidenlike she bent (Her modest eyelids drooping and askance); And there she gave my wishes their content, Approaching, so that her sweet melodies Arrived upon mine ear with what they meant.                                                               

When first she came amongst the blades, that rise, Already wetted, from the goodly river, She graced me by the lifting of her eyes.”- CAYLEY

[Source: Modern Painters Volume III by John Ruskin (1897)]