 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
83
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
By the sweet, tender smiles on thy countenance stealing,
Now dimpling thy cheeks more than Heaven to me;
I know by the light of their heavenly revealing,
That the dear little angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
I know by the light of their heavenly revealing,
That the dear little angels are whispering to thee.
Now dimpling thy cheeks more than Heaven to me;
I know by the light of their heavenly revealing,
That the dear little angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
I know by the light of their heavenly revealing,
That the dear little angels are whispering to thee.
Like two violets bedewed in the light of the morning,
Are thy mild, tender eyes turned in gladness to me;
By their soul-lighted azure thus rapturously burning,
I know that the Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
By their soul-lighted azure thus rapturously burning,
I know that the Angels are whispering to thee.
Are thy mild, tender eyes turned in gladness to me;
By their soul-lighted azure thus rapturously burning,
I know that the Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
By their soul-lighted azure thus rapturously burning,
I know that the Angels are whispering to thee.
Ah! nothing less pure than that saintly emotion
Now thrilling thy pure little heart so for me,
Could inspire me to feel with such rapturous devotion,
That the dear little Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
Could inspire me to feel with such rapturous devotion,
That the dear little Angels are whispering to thee.
Now thrilling thy pure little heart so for me,
Could inspire me to feel with such rapturous devotion,
That the dear little Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
Could inspire me to feel with such rapturous devotion,
That the dear little Angels are whispering to thee.
Thy soft, lily-lips, dyed with roses, resemble—
Thus cooingly, wooingly calling to me—
Two rose-leaves that in the soft breezes now tremble,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
Two rose-leaves that in the soft breezes now tremble,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee.
Thus cooingly, wooingly calling to me—
Two rose-leaves that in the soft breezes now tremble,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
Two rose-leaves that in the soft breezes now tremble,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee.
84
Like the Moon newly born in the soft azure bosom
Of Heaven, art thou lying in thy cradle by me;
As white as the lily new-blown into blossom—
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
As white as the Lily new blown into blossom,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee.
Of Heaven, art thou lying in thy cradle by me;
As white as the lily new-blown into blossom—
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee—
Are whispering, are whispering to thee—
As white as the Lily new blown into blossom,
Because the dear Angels are whispering to thee.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |