Love-Ditty

MY love, ray winged love, is like the swallow,

Which in Autumn flies from home,

But, when balmy Spring agen is come,
And soft airs and sunshine follow,

Keturneth newly,

And gladdens her old haunts till after bowery July.

My slumberous love is like the winter-smitten

Tree, whereon Decay doth feed,

Till the drooping dells and forests read
What the hand of May hath written

Against their sadness;

And then, behold! it wakens up to life and gladness!

My love, ray flitting love, is like the shadow

All day long on path or wall:

Let but Evening's dim-grey curtains fall,
And the sunlight leave the meadow,

And, self-invited,

It wanders through all bowers where Beauty's lamps
are lighted.