My true love lies asleep
M. Lang
My true love lies asleep
In some most heavenly place;
She hath a lily in her hand,
A smile upon her face.
The dear white roses come
And climb about her there;
The sweetest winds you ever heard
Go singing down the air.
The roses climb so high;
The grasses grow so deep;
You cannot see her where she lies,
A-smiling in her sleep.