Richard Forest's Midsummer Night.
17
VI.
Do I love you more for your own grand sake,
Or more for the bliss you bring to me?
You big black arms of the elms that make
The little white arms cling to me.
Do I love you more for your own grand sake,
Or more for the bliss you bring to me?
You big black arms of the elms that make
The little white arms cling to me.
Do I love you more for your own sweet sake,
Or more for my heart's desire to me?
You flowers of the night whose perfumes make
The sweetest breath suspire to me.
Or more for my heart's desire to me?
You flowers of the night whose perfumes make
The sweetest breath suspire to me.
Do I love you more for your own dear sake,
Or more for the joys that rill through me?
You nightingales whose voices make
The dearest soft voice thrill through me.
Or more for the joys that rill through me?
You nightingales whose voices make
The dearest soft voice thrill through me.
Do I love you more for your own bright sake,
Or more for the joys that stream on me?
You stars of the heaven whose glances make
The brightest moist eyes beam on me.
Or more for the joys that stream on me?
You stars of the heaven whose glances make
The brightest moist eyes beam on me.
Do I love you more for your own dear sake,
Or more for the bliss possessing me?
You whispering waves of the sea that make
The dear lips mute caressing me.
Or more for the bliss possessing me?
You whispering waves of the sea that make
The dear lips mute caressing me.
Do I love you more for your own pure sake,
Or more for the Heavens you declare to me?
Or more for the Heavens you declare to me?
