Lo! Such sweetness galore, in the dewing dew upon a cheek. When the sacred and the lore, to thy holiness become a bleak. Then I ask, why those drop, in melancholy they drag upon. Over the rosey over the top, wetter, so preciously done. May a day comes in a sun, when the moon greets a smile. And the shiny eyes may run, among the laughters awhile. For now O lonely, farewell, may or may not I would ever see. A light again upon a sweet belle, sitting, weeping an Ave, over me. |