Love

THE breeze lightly waveth The lily so fair, Amidst the sweet petals The bee batheth there; He will not, he will not, Away further flit— What hold those sweet petals For food ever fit?

The youth fond embracing Enfoldeth his prize, Eye and soul ever bathing Themselves in her eyes; He will not, he will not, Depart further on,— O tell me what honey Her lips dwells upon?

O seek but the kisses Of love in your home; In heav’n there’s abundance Of that sweet honeycomb; There ever o’erfloweth The beaker of love, With drops ever streaming Towards earth from above.