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70
TO A LADY
Where the wild-daisy springs, there all fresh from his flight
And all blithe as he sings, will the glad Lark alight;
Where the starry tuft blossoming hides his young nest,
There his softly-descending wing loves the buds best.
And all blithe as he sings, will the glad Lark alight;
Where the starry tuft blossoming hides his young nest,
There his softly-descending wing loves the buds best.
Where afar in the thorny vale sweet-briers swell,
There the Nightingale chaunts his full roundelay well;
'Tis to sooth his love's vernal choice, hush'd in repose,
That he pours forth his mellow voice from the wild-rose.
There the Nightingale chaunts his full roundelay well;
'Tis to sooth his love's vernal choice, hush'd in repose,
That he pours forth his mellow voice from the wild-rose.
As that wild-daisy lovely art Thou, my young Bride,
Thou art sweet as this wild-rose all new in its pride!
Thou art That without speck; thou art This without thorn;
And thy bosom is pure as their dew in the morn!
Thou art sweet as this wild-rose all new in its pride!
Thou art That without speck; thou art This without thorn;
And thy bosom is pure as their dew in the morn!
Not so dear is his nest to the Lark from on high,
Nor the glance of his mate to the Nightingale's eye,
As thy smile is to me through the cloud of my cares;
And the song sung to thee should be sweeter than their's!
Nor the glance of his mate to the Nightingale's eye,
As thy smile is to me through the cloud of my cares;
And the song sung to thee should be sweeter than their's!
Though the skill is denied to tune melody's string,
Thus the will, my young Bride, to thy beauty would sing;
Because my soul's pleasure is all where thou art;
For wherever the treasure is there is the heart.
Thus the will, my young Bride, to thy beauty would sing;
Because my soul's pleasure is all where thou art;
For wherever the treasure is there is the heart.
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