Classic Poem

Dost thou not hear the silver bell,
Thro' yonder lime-trees ringing?
'T is my lady's light gazelle,
To me her love thoughts bringing,—
All the while that silver bell
Around his dark neck ringing.

See, in his mouth he bears a wreath,
My love hath kist in tying;
Oh, what tender thoughts beneath
Those silent flowers are lying,—
Hid within the mystic wreath,
My love hath kist in trying!

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her, the fairest,
Who thus hath breathed her soul to me.
In every leaf thou bearest;
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her the fairest!

Hail ye living, speaking flowers,
That breathe of her who bound ye;
Oh, 't was not in fields, or bowers,
'T was on her lips, she found ye;—
Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,
'T was on her lips she found ye.