 | Summer |  |
37
SONG.
[My cot should stand in silence' dale]
My cot should stand in silence' dale;
Its windows, brightening with the East,
Should hear the wakeful Nightingale,
When every voice but her's doth rest;
And there should be, to hear it too,
A maid all tenderness and truth,
With eyes that gleam like moonlit dew,
And yet can sometimes pale with ruth.
Its windows, brightening with the East,
Should hear the wakeful Nightingale,
When every voice but her's doth rest;
And there should be, to hear it too,
A maid all tenderness and truth,
With eyes that gleam like moonlit dew,
And yet can sometimes pale with ruth.
My cot should have a greenwood bower,
With fruit and flower, for bird and bee,
To breathe all sweets in dewy hour,
And balm Love's breath refreshfully;
And there my Mary's harp should ring
Sweet tones that make the pulses thrill,
The heart unconsciously to sing,
And as unconsciously to still.
With fruit and flower, for bird and bee,
To breathe all sweets in dewy hour,
And balm Love's breath refreshfully;
And there my Mary's harp should ring
Sweet tones that make the pulses thrill,
The heart unconsciously to sing,
And as unconsciously to still.
41
A little lake, nor loud nor deep,
Should from my door to distance spread,
Where I might hear the light fish leap,
Or see them nestle in their bed;
And it should sleep between two hills,
Where no loud-howling storms come near,
Calm as the heart when laughter stills,
And bright as joy's delicious tear.
Should from my door to distance spread,
Where I might hear the light fish leap,
Or see them nestle in their bed;
And it should sleep between two hills,
Where no loud-howling storms come near,
Calm as the heart when laughter stills,
And bright as joy's delicious tear.
And there my white-sailed shallop-boat,
Should lie in golden-sanded cove,
Or on the silver wide wave float,
Freighted by Beauty and glad Love:
And thus might we love, sing, and play,
And let the months like minutes wing;
And life be all a summer's day,
And death a dark, but dreadless thing.
Should lie in golden-sanded cove,
Or on the silver wide wave float,
Freighted by Beauty and glad Love:
And thus might we love, sing, and play,
And let the months like minutes wing;
And life be all a summer's day,
And death a dark, but dreadless thing.
1821.
| Summer | |