The Poetical Works of John Payne Definitive Edition in Two Volumes |
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A BIRTHDAY SONG. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
A BIRTHDAY SONG.
WHAT shall I say to my dearest dear,
On the sweetest day of the whole sweet year?
Shall I tell her how dainty she is and sweet,
From her golden head to her silver feet?
Love of my loves, shall I say to her—
Till the breeze catch tune and the birds repeat
The chime of my song—thou art bright and rare,
(Eyes of the gray and amber hair)
Who is so white as my love, my sweet?
Who is so sweet and fair?
On the sweetest day of the whole sweet year?
Shall I tell her how dainty she is and sweet,
From her golden head to her silver feet?
Love of my loves, shall I say to her—
Till the breeze catch tune and the birds repeat
The chime of my song—thou art bright and rare,
(Eyes of the gray and amber hair)
Who is so white as my love, my sweet?
Who is so sweet and fair?
Ah, no! for my song would faint and die,
Faint with a moan and a happy sigh,
For a kiss of her lips so clear and red,
For a touch of her dainty gold-wrought head
And a look of her tender eye!
And even the words, if words there were said,
Would fail for the sound of her lovely name,
Till the very birds should flout them to shame,
That they strove to render silver with lead,
To image with snow the flame!
Faint with a moan and a happy sigh,
For a kiss of her lips so clear and red,
For a touch of her dainty gold-wrought head
And a look of her tender eye!
And even the words, if words there were said,
264
Till the very birds should flout them to shame,
That they strove to render silver with lead,
To image with snow the flame!
So e'en I must sing her over again
The old old song with its one refrain,
The song that in Spring like the cooing dove
Has nothing for burden but just ‘I love.’
Go, O my songs, like a silver rain,
And flutter her golden head above;
Sing in her walks and her happy day,
Fill all her dreams with the roundelay,
‘I love’ and ‘I love her,’ again and again,
‘I love her,’ sorry or gay!
The old old song with its one refrain,
The song that in Spring like the cooing dove
Has nothing for burden but just ‘I love.’
Go, O my songs, like a silver rain,
And flutter her golden head above;
Sing in her walks and her happy day,
Fill all her dreams with the roundelay,
‘I love’ and ‘I love her,’ again and again,
‘I love her,’ sorry or gay!
Is she thinking of me, my lady of love?
(Heart of my heart, is the day enough
For the thought and the wish of her daintiness
And the memory of the last caress?)
Do her lips seek mine, my gold-plumaged dove—
My little lady with glass-gray eyne—
In long sweet dreams of the night to press
From the grapes of delight Love's golden wine?
Does thought seem more and the world seem less,
As her hand strays, seeking mine?
(Heart of my heart, is the day enough
For the thought and the wish of her daintiness
And the memory of the last caress?)
Do her lips seek mine, my gold-plumaged dove—
My little lady with glass-gray eyne—
In long sweet dreams of the night to press
From the grapes of delight Love's golden wine?
Does thought seem more and the world seem less,
As her hand strays, seeking mine?
Fly to her, fly, O my little song!
(Fly to her quickly; the way is long
And your little dove-coloured wings are weak.)
Nestle your head on her roseleaf cheek;
Say what I would, if my wings were strong
And the heaven were near to seek:
Take all the tender fancies that lie
And flower in my heart so silently;
Sing her the love I can never speak
Wholly, but in a sigh!
(Fly to her quickly; the way is long
And your little dove-coloured wings are weak.)
Nestle your head on her roseleaf cheek;
Say what I would, if my wings were strong
And the heaven were near to seek:
Take all the tender fancies that lie
And flower in my heart so silently;
Sing her the love I can never speak
Wholly, but in a sigh!
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |