 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
TO ---
Thou gavest me a fair red rose,
Thou gavest me a violet—
I thought them poor and pale to those
In thy beloved features met.
Thou gavest me a violet—
I thought them poor and pale to those
In thy beloved features met.
No rose of June could e'er eclipse
The glory of those budding lips—
The glory of those budding lips—
And the flower that gathers its virgin hue
From the gleam of the summer skies,
Hath ne'er so lovely and tender a blue
As beams from thine own sweet eyes.
From the gleam of the summer skies,
Hath ne'er so lovely and tender a blue
As beams from thine own sweet eyes.
| War-lyrics and other poems | |