 | Rural sketches and poems |  |
256
THE FIRST SONG OF SPRING.
To M------
Let not the morning sun ascend the sky,
For thou art brighter in thine own calm sphere,
The fairest star that hath its throne on high
Thou dost surpass, love, in thy heaven here.
For thou art brighter in thine own calm sphere,
The fairest star that hath its throne on high
Thou dost surpass, love, in thy heaven here.
The dusky cloudlet circling round the moon,
Cannot compare, love, with thy raven hair,
Nor silver beams that spangle midnight's crown
Match with the glances of thine eyes so fair.
Cannot compare, love, with thy raven hair,
Nor silver beams that spangle midnight's crown
Match with the glances of thine eyes so fair.
The Spring hath spread fresh flowerets at our feet,
Fresh buds upon each fragrant almond-tree;
But violet of the dell is not so sweet,
Nor almond-blossom beautiful like thee.
Fresh buds upon each fragrant almond-tree;
But violet of the dell is not so sweet,
Nor almond-blossom beautiful like thee.
The mountain streams are rich with emerald light,
Loud sing the birds in every leafy grove;
Whilst thou as mountain streams art pure and bright;
Sweet as the lark's thy warbled strains of love.
Loud sing the birds in every leafy grove;
Whilst thou as mountain streams art pure and bright;
Sweet as the lark's thy warbled strains of love.
257
The bowers are budding, green each woodland dell,
The hawthorn blooms invite us to their shade,
O'er hill and dale soft genial raptures swell,
And greet with notes of joy my dearest maid.
The hawthorn blooms invite us to their shade,
O'er hill and dale soft genial raptures swell,
And greet with notes of joy my dearest maid.
Come to mine arms, beloved,—o'er the sea
Come,—in thine everlasting beauty come—
The voices of the Spring-time call to thee,
And I am here, thy welcome and thy home!
Come,—in thine everlasting beauty come—
The voices of the Spring-time call to thee,
And I am here, thy welcome and thy home!
| Rural sketches and poems | |