The Breezelet
CRIED Ciss to the breeze, as under the trees,
She lay at her ease, one day,
‘From thy rovings cease, and a maiden to please,
Of thy doings breeze now say!
’Be it so,' sang he; 'from the west I be,
And where-ever in glee I rove,
In lane or on lea, with the blooms I’m free,
And they—ever me—they love.
‘The primrose that well may fear when the fell,
Fierce north winds yell, I seek,
When lured by my spell, she peers from her cell,
And a smile gilds the dell-pet’s cheek.
‘The violet meek in her velvet sleek,
In love with the freak, alway,
To my fancy weak appeareth to seek,
When I play with her cheek, more play.
’The daisy a-drest in her blood-laced vest,
In her deep green nest, I know,
When her lips I’ve prest, with a pleasure blest,
Is her little breast a glow.
‘The glad daffodil oft dances her fill,
As under the hill glide I,
And her pearly tears spill down into the rill,
That yet with a trill leaps by.
’See, a fairy bold, her vesture of gold,
The crocus unfold, in mirth,
And glories untold, where I’ve kist the mold,
Illumine the cold, cold earth.’
Thus sang sang the breeze a maiden to please,
And Ciss in the trees, that night,
To rapture a prey sang Robin the lay,
When a kiss did the may requite.
Autres oeuvres par Joseph Skipsey...
