 | Twilight Songs |  |
33
GORSE.
The gorse is now a golden vine,
Bunches of little amber grapes,
Filled with the clear, the luscious wine,
Hang out their dear and delicate shapes;
Gorse is for kisses, and be sure
His light o' love's on mountain and moor.
Bunches of little amber grapes,
Filled with the clear, the luscious wine,
Hang out their dear and delicate shapes;
Gorse is for kisses, and be sure
His light o' love's on mountain and moor.
All the sweet night the Burning Bush
Sends up its little flares, i' the dark.
Good lack, the blackbird and the thrush,
Linnet and finch, and even the lark,
Will dream they sleep by candle light,
In a strange world where is no night.
Sends up its little flares, i' the dark.
Good lack, the blackbird and the thrush,
Linnet and finch, and even the lark,
Will dream they sleep by candle light,
In a strange world where is no night.
White May and gorse that apes the sun—
There is no light now it is May;
The hands o' the clock are sure put on;
The dim, delicious night's away,
Since gorse runs wild o'er hill and fen,
A Jack o' Lanthorn and his men.
There is no light now it is May;
The hands o' the clock are sure put on;
The dim, delicious night's away,
Since gorse runs wild o'er hill and fen,
A Jack o' Lanthorn and his men.
The glow-worm now puts out his lamp;
No more need he his vigil keep
For folk who stray in dew and damp
And sheep and lambkins fast asleep.
It is the Midnight Sun that shines,
And all the hills show golden vines.
No more need he his vigil keep
For folk who stray in dew and damp
And sheep and lambkins fast asleep.
It is the Midnight Sun that shines,
And all the hills show golden vines.
| Twilight Songs | |