The works of Francis Thompson

Pan-imbued
Tempe wood,
Pretty player's sporting-place;
Tempe wood's
Solitude 's
Everywhere a courting-place.
Kiss me, sweet
Gipsy feet,
Though a kissed maid hath her red;
Kisses grow—
Trust me so—
Faster than they're gatherèd!
I will flute a tune
On the pipes of ivory;
All long noon
Piping of a melody;
A merry, merry, merry, merry,
Merry, merry melody.
Dance, ho! foot it so! Feat fleets the melody!

Let the wise
Say, youth dies;—
'Tis for pleasure's mending, Sweet!
Kisses are
Costlier far,
That they have an ending, Sweet!
Half a kiss 's
Dainty bliss is
From the day of kiss-no-more;

212

When we shall,
Roseal
Lass, do this and this no more!
And we pipe a tune
On the pipes of ivory;
All long noon
Fluting of a melody:—
A merry, merry, merry, merry,
Merry, merry melody.
Dance, ho! trip it so! Feat fleets the melody!

My love must
Be to trust,
While you safely fold me close:
Yours will smile
A kissing-while,
For the hours I hold you close.
Maiden gold!
Clipping bold
Here the truest mintage is:
Lips will bear
But, I swear,
In the press their vintages!
I will flute a tune
On the pipes of ivory;
All long noon
Piping of a melody:—
A merry, merry, merry, merry,
Merry, merry melody.
Dance, ho! foot it so! Feat fleets the melody!

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