| My heart is like a singing bird |
| Whose nest is
in a watered shoot ; |
| My heart is like an apple-tree |
| Whose boughs
are bent with thickset fruit ; |
| My heart is like a rainbow shell |
| That paddles
in a halcyon sea ; |
| My heart is gladder than all these |
Because my
love is come to me.
|
| Raise me a dais of silk and down ; |
| Hang it with
vair and purple dyes ; |
| Carve it in doves and pomegranates, |
| And peacocks
with a hundred eyes ; |
| Work it in gold and silver grapes, |
| In leaves and
silver fleurs-de-lys ; |
| Because the birthday of my life |
Is come, my
love is come to me.
|
| |
| |
