 | The book of the East |  |
161
WHAT'S MY LOVE LIKE?
Tell me, what's my love like?
A lily of the May,
That does not shun the kissing sun,
Yet keeps its dew all day?
Yes, and no;
Fond is she, and coy is she,
But—whisper low—
She is more than this to me,
So, no lily shall she be.
A lily of the May,
That does not shun the kissing sun,
Yet keeps its dew all day?
Yes, and no;
Fond is she, and coy is she,
But—whisper low—
She is more than this to me,
So, no lily shall she be.
But tell me, what 's my love like?
A little, cooing dove,
Who feels your breast her safest nest,—
A thing of fear and love?
Yes, and no;
Timid she, and tender she,
But—whisper low—
She is more than this to me,
So, no dove my love shall be.
A little, cooing dove,
Who feels your breast her safest nest,—
A thing of fear and love?
Yes, and no;
Timid she, and tender she,
But—whisper low—
She is more than this to me,
So, no dove my love shall be.
162
O tell me, what 's my love like?
Perhaps a pearl of girls,
For whose sweet face the king would place
His crown upon her curls?
Yes, and no;
Worthy of a king is she,
But—whisper low—
She is more, and is for me,
So, no queen my dear will be.
Perhaps a pearl of girls,
For whose sweet face the king would place
His crown upon her curls?
Yes, and no;
Worthy of a king is she,
But—whisper low—
She is more, and is for me,
So, no queen my dear will be.
| The book of the East | |