Читать книгу Herbs and Apples - Whitney Helen Hay - Страница 4

Up a little road with the morning in my arms,

Drenched with dew and tipsy with the madness of the May,

Leafy fingers on my face, I stop not for your charms!

Love is waiting round the turn, to be my Love to-day.

Shouting as I ride on the springing ringing sod,

Ah! my pony knows the goal to which his course is laid,

Galloping thro' dawn he knows he bears a little god

Bacchus-mad with happiness who burns to meet his maid.