MY love is morning’s fragrance blown
From blossoms fair in golden June;
Her footstep’s rhythm is in tune
With melodies by Springtime known.
Her misty locks are like the May,
On pearly hedges lightly thrown;
A sweeter face was never shown
To man that he might face the day!
O beauty, tender, like the moon
Of summer nights, which gently lay
On lovers when their hearts were gay,
And deep desire was at its noon.
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