Love in Spring-Time

Young Love lies sleeping
 In May-time of the year,
Among the lilies,
 Lapped in [the]1 tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
 White doves come building there;
And round about him
 The May-bushes are white.

[ ... ]

Young Love lies dreaming;
 But who [shall]2 tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
 On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
 Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence,
 Or [song]3 of cherished lips.

[ ... ]

Draw close the curtains
 Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
 With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
 Perhaps will bud unseen,
And a dove, may be,
 Return to nestle here.

Underneath the growing grass,
  Underneath the living flowers,
  Deeper than the sound of showers:
  There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.

Youth and health will be but vain,
  Beauty reckoned of no worth:
  There a very little girth
  Can hold round what once the earth
Seemed too narrow to contain.

Oh what comes over the sea,
  Shoals and quicksands past;
And what comes home to me,
  Sailing slow, sailing fast?

A wind comes over the sea
  With a moan in its blast;
But nothing comes home to me,
  Sailing slow, sailing fast.

Let me be, let me be,
  For my lot is cast:
Land or sea all's one to me,
  And sail it slow or fast.

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
    Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells."

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
    Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."