Love's Token
To you, my conqueror, this ivy wound
In wreaths I give—the ivy that alway
Holds trees and walls close twined in spray on spray,
Tendril on tendril, wrapt, embraced, and bound.
It is your right to be with ivy crowned!
Would it were mine to wind me, night and day,
Round you, my column, in the ivy's way,
And lie along your breast in love's deep swound. . . .
Ah, will the time not come, will it not be—
When, just as dawn awakes the world to life,
'Neath branches of a bower thick shade encloses,
Under soft skies, at prattling birds' first glee,
I shall at last be conqueror in love's strife,
And clasp at will your ivory and roses?
In wreaths I give—the ivy that alway
Holds trees and walls close twined in spray on spray,
Tendril on tendril, wrapt, embraced, and bound.
It is your right to be with ivy crowned!
Would it were mine to wind me, night and day,
Round you, my column, in the ivy's way,
And lie along your breast in love's deep swound. . . .
Ah, will the time not come, will it not be—
When, just as dawn awakes the world to life,
'Neath branches of a bower thick shade encloses,
Under soft skies, at prattling birds' first glee,
I shall at last be conqueror in love's strife,
And clasp at will your ivory and roses?
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