Dream-Love

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 through 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.