A Song
Into the green where ferns grow tall
An oriole like a throb of fire
Swept as my heart in its love's dear thrall
Bore to its soul its wild desire.
O thou of pensive and calmer mind!
Hast thou no dead dry twigs whereon,
If he light and burn, some kindling wind
Turns all to flame in love's red dawn?
An oriole like a throb of fire
Swept as my heart in its love's dear thrall
Bore to its soul its wild desire.
O thou of pensive and calmer mind!
Hast thou no dead dry twigs whereon,
If he light and burn, some kindling wind
Turns all to flame in love's red dawn?
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.