Analysis of Neæra’s Wreath

NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wreath
   That she with her own dainty hands did twine;
Gold-hearted blossoms and blue buds in sheath,
   Mingled with veined green leaves of the wild vine.
Then, bending down her bright head—ah, too nigh!—
   She asks me for a song: the daylight dies:
The song is still unwritten: still I lie
   Watching the purple twilight of her eyes.

I am her laureate; therefore heart of grace
   I take to kiss her. Where was song like this?
Love is best sung of in a loveless place,
   For who would care to sing where he might kiss?