English poem
BALLAD. (A bed of moss we'll straight prepare)
by Anonymous
A bed of moss we'll straight prepare, Where near him gently creeping, We'll pat his cheeks, and stroke his hair, And watch him while he's sleeping.
Sweet flowers of every scent and hue, Pinks, violets, and roses, And blooming Hyacynths we'll strew, As sweetly he reposes.
And we'll with fond emotion start, And while, with admiration, We softly feel his fluttering heart, Partake its palpitation.
More by Anonymous
- BALLAD. ('Twas in a village, near Castlebury)
- BALLAD. ('Twas in the good ship Rover)
- BALLAD. ('Twas not her eyes, though orient mines)
- BALLAD. ('Twas Saturday night, the twinkling stars)
- BALLAD. (A kernel from an apple's core)
- BALLAD. (A novice in love, and a stranger…)
- BALLAD. (A plague of those musty old lubbers)
- BALLAD. (A plague take all such grumbling elves)