Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.

Upon the cunning loom of thought
We weave our fancies, so and so.

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.

If my best wines mislike thy taste,
And my best service win thy frown,
Then tarry not, read more

If my best wines mislike thy taste,
And my best service win thy frown,
Then tarry not, I bid thee haste;
There's many another Inn in town.

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.