[ Featuring Voce ]
Young Love lies dreaming, dreaming,
But who shall tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight on rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight upon a rippling stream;
In Maytime of the year, among the lilies,
Lap'ed in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there:
Or perfect silence, or songs of cherished lips.
And round about him the May bushes are white.
Away to poppied death; cool shadows deepen
Across the sleeping face:
So fails the summer with warm delicious breath;
So what has autumn to give us in its place?
A Song of Cherished lips.
