The pigeon song

Little pigeon, grave and fleet,

Eye-of-fire, sweet Snowy-wings.

Think you that you can discover

On what great green down my lover

Lies by his sunny sheep and sings?

If you can, O go and greet

Him from me; say She is waiting...

Not for him. O no! but, sweet,

Say June's nigh and doves, re-mating,

Fill the dancing noontide heat

With melodious debating.

Say the swift swoops from the beam;

Soon the cuckoo must cease calling;

Kingcups flare beside the stream,

That not glides now, but runs brawling;

That wet roses are asteam

In the sun and will be falling.

Say the chestnut sheds his bloom;

Honey from straw hivings oozes;

There's a nightjar in the coombe;

Venus nightly burns, and chooses

Most to blaze above my room;

That the laggard 'tis that loses.

Say the nights are warm and free,

And the great stars swarm above him;

But soon starless night must be.

Yet if all these do not move him,

Tell O tell -- but not too plainly! --

That I long for him and love him.