Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year
Among the lilies
Lapped in tender light:
White lambs come grazing
White doves come building there;
And round about him
The May-bushes are white
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who can tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence
Or songs of cherished lips
Draw close the curtains
Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen
And a dove, may be
Return to nestle here
In May-time of the year
Among the lilies
Lapped in tender light:
White lambs come grazing
White doves come building there;
And round about him
The May-bushes are white
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who can tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence
Or songs of cherished lips
Draw close the curtains
Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen
And a dove, may be
Return to nestle here
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!