Song of Songs
My heart is like a shady grove
That harbors, for a June,
My thoughts, like song-birds mad with love
Under the moon.
On all the windy boughs they sit
And in the blowing grass —
But one bird silently enters it,
And sings, alas!
Then all the rest grow sad and still
That made a happy noise:
There is no sound on all the hill
But that one voice,
Faint with the memories in his breast —
It is the thought of you —
And when it ceases, all the rest
Are silent, too.
That harbors, for a June,
My thoughts, like song-birds mad with love
Under the moon.
On all the windy boughs they sit
And in the blowing grass —
But one bird silently enters it,
And sings, alas!
Then all the rest grow sad and still
That made a happy noise:
There is no sound on all the hill
But that one voice,
Faint with the memories in his breast —
It is the thought of you —
And when it ceases, all the rest
Are silent, too.
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