O, mine love… how doth the cherry-blossom flower in newborn Spring-tide.
Straining and heavy on the vine, with yet the buds of the Apple still to come.
Even now, above the village treetops, merrily veers and darts the Swallow.
Dark shadows of an evening early, whispered choruses of ancient sorrow.
Low clouds crowd in weeping dews, as fragrant Lilac shalt bloom on the `morrow.
Kisses of Honeysuckle slip redly on the broken rocks of the Brook, as swaying Willows sigh as heavy as a feather…
…and in all this Darkness a Love sleeps hidden, and you and I in this World together.