What joy is this

to rest, enthralled,

at pleasures breast.

And oh! the wild rose

how you do draw

me near;

The calling of your

heady scents

falls soft upon my ear.

In splendour flows

all verdure here,

beneath the bluest eye.

While on her breath the

thistle down, is

quietly blowing by.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A perfect May day.

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