Читать книгу The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 10

The dew-drop from the rose that slips

Hath not the sparkle of her lips,

My lady's lips.

Than her long braids of yellow hold

The dandelion hath not more gold,

Her braids like gold.

The blue-bell hints not more of skies

Than do the flowers in her eyes,

My lady's eyes.

The sweet-pea blossom doth not wear

More dainty pinkness than her ear,

My lady's ear.

So, heigho! then, tho' skies be gray,

My heart's a garden that is gay

This sorry day.