Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/353

 The roses of love, More sweet Than blossoms that rain from above Round our feet,

When under high bowers We pass, Where the west wind freckles with flowers All the grass.

But a child's thoughts bear More bright Sweet visions by day, and more fair Dreams by night,

Than summer's whole treasure Can be: What am I that his thought should take pleasure, Then, in me?

I am only my love's True lover, With a nestful of songs, like doves Under cover,

That I bring in my cap Fresh caught, To be laid on my small king's lap— Worth just nought