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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
XIX—THISTLE-DOWN
Fly, thistle-down, fly
From my lips to the lips that I love!
Fly through the morning light,
Flee through the shadowy night,
Over the sea and the land,
Quick as the lark
Through twilight and dark,
Through lightning and thunder;
Till no longer asunder
We stand;
For thy touch like the lips of her lover
Moves her being to mine—
We are one in a swoon divine!
From my lips to the lips that I love!
Fly through the morning light,
Flee through the shadowy night,
Over the sea and the land,
Quick as the lark
Through twilight and dark,
Through lightning and thunder;
Till no longer asunder
We stand;
For thy touch like the lips of her lover
Moves her being to mine—
We are one in a swoon divine!
Fly, thistle-down, fly
From my lips to the lips that I love!
From my lips to the lips that I love!
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |