by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918)
The Lupine
Language: English
Ah, lupine, with silvery leaves And blossoms blue as the skies, I know a maid like thee, And blue, too, are her eyes. Gray as a nun's her dress ; How lowly, And holy Her mien, cannot mere words express. Fair lupine, the dew-drop shines A gem night gives to thee ; So pure her radiant soul Within her breast must be. Like thee, she dwells alone ; All sweetness, And meetness, As in thyself in her are known. Ah, lupine, I pluck thy bloom, But how her grace may I win? So pure, so fair, is she My suit may not begin Unless I send thy flower To prove her, And move her, Me with her priceless love to dower !
Authorship:
- by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918), "The Lupine", appears in The Poet and His Self, in A Flower Cycle, no. 8, first published 1892 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by George Whitefield Chadwick (1854 - 1931), "The Lupine", 1892 [ voice and piano ], from A Flower Cycle, no. 9 [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2009-06-17
Line count: 24
Word count: 122