20
Richard Forest's Midsummer Night.
White rose in her hair, red rose in her fingers,
How she hastens!—and how she lingers!
How she hastens!—and how she lingers!
Oh, the smile of your mouth!—but I want my own kiss!
Oh, the flush of your face!—but your head on my breast!
Oh, the rose in your yellow hair fragrant with bliss!
Oh, the rose in your hand by my own hand caressed!
O dear form I enlace in this perfect embrace,
My Love all a-tremble with passion and yearning,
While under my kisses the pure neck is burning!
Oh, the flush of your face!—but your head on my breast!
Oh, the rose in your yellow hair fragrant with bliss!
Oh, the rose in your hand by my own hand caressed!
O dear form I enlace in this perfect embrace,
My Love all a-tremble with passion and yearning,
While under my kisses the pure neck is burning!
VIII.
Oh, how the nights are short,
These heavenly nights of June!
The long day all amort
With toil, the time to court
So stinted in its boon!
Oh, how the nights are short,
These heavenly nights of June!
The long day all amort
With toil, the time to court
So stinted in its boon!
In winter brief work-days,
Long rest-nights dark and cold,
Dank mists and miry ways,
Black boughs and leafless sprays,
No sweet birds singing bold.
Long rest-nights dark and cold,
Dank mists and miry ways,
Black boughs and leafless sprays,
No sweet birds singing bold.
I find this order strange,
And not at all the right;
And not at all the right;
