University of Virginia Library


156

THE LOVER TO HIS LASS.

Wreathed with delight the world is bright,
A million buds are springing,
And June her dower of lavish flower
And scented air is bringing;
And all the way is white with may,
The pale dog-rose is blowing,
And sweeter far, my dear, you are
Than any bud that's blowing.
The birds are gay this first June day,
And all the world is ringing,
With lovely notes from throstle's throats,
And linnet's tender singing.
Of love sing they along the way
Where you and I are going,
Love—the one theme of summer's dream,
The one sweet truth worth knowing!

157

What matter, dear, if vain and drear
Men say a world like this is?
What can they know, who call it so,
Of summer, songs, and kisses?
Life's sharpest thorn may well be borne
In youth's blue breezy weather;
We'll not complain of any pain
That finds us still together.
Together now, when roses blow,
And youth blooms like the roses;
Together too, we one, we two
When life's dear story closes.
And one at last, when we have passed
Pains, pleasure, prayers, and praises,
And you and I together lie
Beneath the churchyard daisies.