THE WILLOW
LEANS now the fair willow, dreamingAmid her locks of green.In the driving snow she was parched and cold,And in midnight hath beenSwept by blasts of the void night,Lashed by the rains.Now of that wintry dark and bleakNo memory remains.In mute desire she sways softly;Thrilling sap up-flows;She praises God in her beauty and grace,Whispers delight. And there flowsA delicate wind from the Southern seas,Kissing her leaves. She sighs.While the birds in her tresses make merry;Burns the Sun in the skies.
LEANS now the fair willow, dreamingAmid her locks of green.In the driving snow she was parched and cold,And in midnight hath beenSwept by blasts of the void night,Lashed by the rains.Now of that wintry dark and bleakNo memory remains.In mute desire she sways softly;Thrilling sap up-flows;She praises God in her beauty and grace,Whispers delight. And there flowsA delicate wind from the Southern seas,Kissing her leaves. She sighs.While the birds in her tresses make merry;Burns the Sun in the skies.
LEANS now the fair willow, dreamingAmid her locks of green.In the driving snow she was parched and cold,And in midnight hath beenSwept by blasts of the void night,Lashed by the rains.Now of that wintry dark and bleakNo memory remains.
LEANS now the fair willow, dreaming
Amid her locks of green.
In the driving snow she was parched and cold,
And in midnight hath been
Swept by blasts of the void night,
Lashed by the rains.
Now of that wintry dark and bleak
No memory remains.
In mute desire she sways softly;Thrilling sap up-flows;She praises God in her beauty and grace,Whispers delight. And there flowsA delicate wind from the Southern seas,Kissing her leaves. She sighs.While the birds in her tresses make merry;Burns the Sun in the skies.
In mute desire she sways softly;
Thrilling sap up-flows;
She praises God in her beauty and grace,
Whispers delight. And there flows
A delicate wind from the Southern seas,
Kissing her leaves. She sighs.
While the birds in her tresses make merry;
Burns the Sun in the skies.