Page:Troubadour.pdf/242

238

To some lovely solitude, Where the nightingale's young brood Lives amid the shrine of leaves, Which the wild rose round them weaves, And my dwelling shall be made Underneath the beech-tree's shade. Twining ivy for the walls Over which the jasmine falls, Like a tapestry work'd with gold And pearls around each emerald fold: And my couches shall be set With the purple violet, And the white ones too, inside Each a blush to suit a bride. That flower which of all that live, Lovers, should be those who give,