Young Love lies sleeping

Young Love lies sleeping

In 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 him

The May-bushes are white.

Soft moss the pillow

For oh, a softer cheek;

Broad leaves cast shadow

Upon the heavy eyes:

There winds and waters

Grow lulled and scarcely speak;

There twilight lingers

The longest in the skies.

Young Love lies dreaming;

But who shall tell the dream?

A perfect sunlight

On rustling forest tips;

Or perfect moonlight

Upon a rippling stream;

Or perfect silence,

Or song of cherished lips.

Burn odours round him

To fill the drowsy air;

Weave silent dances

Around him to and fro;

For oh, in waking

The sights are not so fair,

And song and silence

Are not like these below.

Young Love lies dreaming

Till summer days are gone,-

Dreaming and drowsing

Away to perfect sleep:

He sees the beauty

Sun hath not looked upon,

And tastes the fountain

Unutterably deep.

Him perfect music

Doth hush unto his rest,

And thro' the pauses

The perfect silence calms:

Oh poor the voices

Of earth from east to west,

And poor earth's stillness

Between her stately palms.

Young Love lies drowsing

Away to poppied death;

Cool shadows deepen

Across the sleeping face:

So fails the summer

With warm, delicious breath;

And what hath autumn

To give us in its place?

Draw close the curtains

Of branched evergreen;

Change cannot touch them

With fading fingers sere:

Here the first violets

Perhaps will bud unseen,

And a dove, may be,

Return to nestle here.