Summer Fête, The - Song

Array thee, love, array thee, love,
In all thy best array thee;
The sun 's below — the moon 's above —
And Night and Bliss obey thee.
Put on thee all that's bright and rare,
The zone, the wreath, the gem.
Not so much gracing charms so fair,
As borrowing grace from them.
Array thee, love, array thee, love,
In all that's bright array thee;
The sun 's below — the moon 's above —
And Night and Bliss obey thee.

Put on the plumes thy lover gave,
The plumes, that, proudly dancing,
Proclaim to all, where'er they wave,
Victorious eyes advancing.
Bring forth the robe whose hue of heaven
From thee derives such light,
That Iris would give all her seven
To boast but one so bright.
Array thee, love, array thee, love, etc.
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love,
Thro' Pleasure's circles hie thee,
And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move,
Will beat when they come nigh thee.
Thy every word shall be a spell,
Thy every look a ray,
And tracks of wondering eyes shall tell
The glory of thy way!
Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love,
Thro' Pleasure's circles hie thee,
And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move,
Shall beat when they come nigh thee.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.