Love, the Guest

I did not dream that Love would stay, I deemed him but a passing guest, Yet here he lingers many a day.

I said, “Young Love will flee with May, And leave forlorn the hearth he blest;” I did not dream that Love would stay.

My envious neighbour mocks me, “Nay, Love lies not long in any nest;” Yet here he lingers many a day.

And though I did his will alway, And gave him even of my best, I did not dream that Love would stay.

I have no skill to bid him stay, Of tripping tongue or cunning jest, Yet here he lingers many a day.

Beneath his ivory feet I lay Pale plumage of the ringdove’s breast; I did not dream that Love would stay.

Will Love be flown? I ofttimes say, Home turning for the noonday rest; Yet here he lingers many a day.

His gold curls gleam, his lips are gay, His eyes through tears smile loveliest; I did not dream that Love would stay.

He sometimes sighs, when far away The low red sun makes fair the west, Yet here he lingers many a day.

Thrice blest of all men am I! yea, Although of all unworthiest; I did not dream that Love would stay, Yet here he lingers many a day.