 | English Roses |  |
71
OLIVE
Olive, kiss me
On my aching breast and brow;
Sweetest, tell me, did you miss me
As I mourned for you till now?
I felt hunger
Day and night, and every hour,
And my life itself grew younger
With the passion and its power.
Let me know
With that pretty mouth above me,
You are not a fleeting show—
Olive, love me.
On my aching breast and brow;
Sweetest, tell me, did you miss me
As I mourned for you till now?
I felt hunger
Day and night, and every hour,
And my life itself grew younger
With the passion and its power.
Let me know
With that pretty mouth above me,
You are not a fleeting show—
Olive, love me.
Olive, call me
By those tender names of old.
Wherewith you didst erst enthrall me
In the scarlet and the gold?
Lips and tresses
Meant to play no common part,
With suggestions of caresses
Stealing in the hardest heart.
Ah, those hands
Which so softly do beset me
Move about yet like commands—
Olive, pet me.
By those tender names of old.
Wherewith you didst erst enthrall me
In the scarlet and the gold?
Lips and tresses
Meant to play no common part,
With suggestions of caresses
Stealing in the hardest heart.
Ah, those hands
Which so softly do beset me
Move about yet like commands—
Olive, pet me.
Olive, nearer
Wreathe me as a tendriled vine
With the arms that give me clearer
Glimpses of a fate divine.
Fortune never
Now shall part our happy lot,
Though all winds and ways endeavour
And the world against us plot.
For a thread
Of your yellow hair would find me,
And recover from the dead—
Olive, bind me.
Wreathe me as a tendriled vine
With the arms that give me clearer
Glimpses of a fate divine.
Fortune never
Now shall part our happy lot,
Though all winds and ways endeavour
And the world against us plot.
For a thread
Of your yellow hair would find me,
And recover from the dead—
Olive, bind me.
72
Olive tighter
Still around me cling and close,
With those dark eyes kindled brighter
And the fragrance of the rose.
Through the ages
You and I, in different forms,
Trod together the same stages
And resisted the same storms.
When the vain
Shadow yet in death would fold me,
Through the conquered path of pain—
Olive, hold me.
Still around me cling and close,
With those dark eyes kindled brighter
And the fragrance of the rose.
Through the ages
You and I, in different forms,
Trod together the same stages
And resisted the same storms.
When the vain
Shadow yet in death would fold me,
Through the conquered path of pain—
Olive, hold me.
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