Dream-Love
Young Love lies sleepingIn May-time of the year,Among the lilies,Lapped in the tender light:White lambs come grazing,White doves come building there:And round about himThe May-bushes are white.
Soft moss the pillowFor oh, a softer cheek; 10Broad leaves cast shadowUpon the heavy eyes:There winds and watersGrow lulled and scarcely speak;There twilight lingersThe longest in the skies.
Young Love lies dreaming;But who shall tell the dream?A perfect sunlightOn rustling forest tips; 20Or perfect moonlightUpon a rippling stream;Or perfect silence,Or song of cherished lips.
Burn odours round himTo fill the drowsy air;Weave silent dancesAround him to and fro;For oh, in wakingThe sights are not so fair, 30And song and silenceAre not like these below.
Young Love lies dreamingTill summer days are gone,—Dreaming and drowsingAway to perfect sleep:He sees the beautySun hath not looked upon,And tastes the fountainUnutterably deep. 40
Him perfect musicDoth hush unto his rest,And through the pausesThe perfect silence calms:Oh, poor the voicesOf earth from east to west,And poor earth’s stillnessBetween her stately palms.
Young Love lies drowsingAway to poppied death; 50Cool shadows deepenAcross the sleeping face:So fails the summerWith warm, delicious breath;And what hath autumnTo give us in its place?
Draw close the curtainsOf branched evergreen;Change cannot touch themWith fading fingers sere: 60Here the first violetsPerhaps will bud unseen,And a dove, may be,Return to nestle here.