A Book of old English love songs . H, thou that swingst upon the wavingearOf some well-filled oaten beard,Drunk every night with some de-licious tearDropt thee from heaven where thouwert reared: The joys of earth and air are thine en-tire,That with thy feet and wings dost hopand fly,And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire,To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then,Sportst in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days makst merry men,Thyself, and melancholy streams.[Hi] But ah, the sickle! golden ears are cropped ; Ceres and Bacchus bid good night

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A Book of old English love songs . H, thou that swingst upon the wavingearOf some well-filled oaten beard,Drunk every night with some de-licious tearDropt thee from heaven where thouwert reared: The joys of earth and air are thine en-tire,That with thy feet and wings dost hopand fly,And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire,To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the day, the Sun thou welcomst then,Sportst in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days makst merry men,Thyself, and melancholy streams.[Hi] But ah, the sickle! golden ears are cropped ; Ceres and Bacchus bid good night;Sharp frosty fingers all your flowers havetopped, And what scythes spared, winds shave off quite. — Richard [H»]

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1897