The love quarrel.
171
As you lie there in the shadow, with the sunlight on your hair,
With the misty floating curtains looped around you drooping fair,
The velvet sinking to your limbs, the only murmur near,
The music of a woman's voice, low-tuned to meet your ear,
You're thinking how, one summer noon, when summer suns were warm,
I watched beside your half-repose, and your head lay on my arm.
With the misty floating curtains looped around you drooping fair,
The velvet sinking to your limbs, the only murmur near,
The music of a woman's voice, low-tuned to meet your ear,
You're thinking how, one summer noon, when summer suns were warm,
I watched beside your half-repose, and your head lay on my arm.
Then I sang you quaint love-ballads, sang you rhymed and measured words,
But your own were ever sweeter, and the singing of the birds
From the garden chimed in softly, but I thought your voice was best,
And wished the ballad ended, and the little birds at rest,
But your own were ever sweeter, and the singing of the birds
From the garden chimed in softly, but I thought your voice was best,
And wished the ballad ended, and the little birds at rest,
