Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I like not lady-slippers,
Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms,
Not yet the flaky roses,
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I like not lady-slippers,
Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms,
Not yet the flaky roses,
Red or white as snow;
I like the chaliced lilies,
The heavy Eastern lilies,
The gorgeous tiger-lilies,
That in our garden grow.

In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.

In her eyes a thought
Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn,
A mystical forewarning.

Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
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Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
Hoarding golden honey.

When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away,
And in a dream as in a fairy bark
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When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away,
And in a dream as in a fairy bark
Drift on and on through the enchanted dark
To purple daybreak--little thought we pay
To that sweet bitter world we know by day.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven
That from the East glad message brings.

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven
That from the East glad message brings.