Classic Poem

Arise, my Love: my Fair One, come away;
Winter is past; the rainy-tide is o'er;
The buds are bursting on the tender spray;
The turtle-doves are cooing more and more;
The fig-tree putteth forth her emerald store;
The swelling grapes are fragrant: breezes play,
With wafted spice, about the grassy floor
Of that fair paradise, where, at break of day,
I wait thy advent: for my locks are wet
With heavy night-drops. Come, I yearn to give
Myself to thee where fountains toss their jet,
And all the fruits of honeyed Lebanon thrive:
There will we feed among the lilies met;
There, on my bosom, thou shalt rest and live.