 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
110
HARVESTING
I
It's—Hey, for the dell, oh! when harvest is yellow,And orchards hang mellow and appled each tree:
It's—Leave the ripe acres, the reapers and rakers,
And all the haymakers and wander with me,
O girl, like a poppy full blown for the bee!
With cheeks like brown berries,
And lips like wild cherries,
And beauty, I swear it, far sweeter to see
Than Summer in blossom, deep Summer in blossom,
With clover-sweet bosom and heart of a bee.—
It's—Hey, for the dell, oh! and tryst by the tree.
II
And what will they think, oh! when sunset is pink, oh!And little stars wink, oh! like buds in the blue?
When into the gloaming we two go a-roaming,
Like birds that are homing, when fireflies are few,
111
With hair like the twilight's,
And eyes like dusk's high lights,
And body a garden that Love wanders through,
A garden of roses, moon-lilies and roses,
Whose beauty uncloses to kiss of the dew.—
Ah, what will they think, oh! those stars in the blue?
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |