115
And I'm very sure a gentle charm
That bright thing round me threw,
For an angel form, in her bosom warm,
Enfolded the drop of dew.
That bright thing round me threw,
For an angel form, in her bosom warm,
Enfolded the drop of dew.
But I slept not long in yon starry bower,
In the bosom of my love,
For, in a shower, to this primrose flower,
She sent me from above;
And soon its moonlight leaves will close,
But they hide me not from view,
For the wind, that flows o'er the young primrose,
Will kiss off the drop of dew.
In the bosom of my love,
For, in a shower, to this primrose flower,
She sent me from above;
And soon its moonlight leaves will close,
But they hide me not from view,
For the wind, that flows o'er the young primrose,
Will kiss off the drop of dew.
