 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
150
MY LOVE.
MEDIÆVAL.
My Love is as the rose, her lips
Are sweeter than the buds the bee
In booming condescension sips,
Each stray of hair that sideways slips,
Is dearer than ten crowns to me.
Are sweeter than the buds the bee
In booming condescension sips,
Each stray of hair that sideways slips,
Is dearer than ten crowns to me.
My Love is as the lily, white
And pure and passionate, lithe and tall,
I dream of her the livelong night,
And see her towering, golden bright,
Beside the old grey garden wall.
And pure and passionate, lithe and tall,
I dream of her the livelong night,
And see her towering, golden bright,
Beside the old grey garden wall.
151
My Love is as the violet,
Most fair and modest, in the shade
She sits, 'tis long since we have met,
Aud therefore both my eyes are wet,
And all my heart in motion made.
Most fair and modest, in the shade
She sits, 'tis long since we have met,
Aud therefore both my eyes are wet,
And all my heart in motion made.
My Love is as the meadow-sweet,
The odour of her hair is good,
And round about her passing feet
Enchanted flowers you may meet,
The grass is green where she hath stood.
The odour of her hair is good,
And round about her passing feet
Enchanted flowers you may meet,
The grass is green where she hath stood.
My Love is as the golden corn,
Her hair it waveth in the wind,
Before her face delight is born;
Attendant roses of the dawn
Behind her footstep you may find.
Her hair it waveth in the wind,
Before her face delight is born;
Attendant roses of the dawn
Behind her footstep you may find.
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