EVERY robin-redbreast takes himself a mate !
Say the birds, sing the birds, “It is wrong to wait
Till the lily-footed spring glides out at summer’s gate.”
So I heard the birds sing, once upon a day :
O, my treasure ! O, my pleasure ! Canst thou say me nay ?
Birds’ songs and birds’ nests and green boughs together,
All gone : love alone laughs at bitter weather.
Summer days or winter days; little recks Love whether;
If so be that Love have his own, his darling way.
Ah, my fairest ! Ah, my rarest ! Canst thou say me nay ?
In the wood the wind-flower is sunken out of sight,
Low down and deep down and world-forgotten quite.
But do you think the Wind forgets that she was sweet and white ?
Then listen to his sad voice a little while, I pray !
O, my cruel! O, my jewel ! Canst thou say me nay ?
The sun stole to a red rose and wiled her leaves apart :
May dew and June air had wooed her at the start ;
But was ’t not fair the sun should have her golden, perfect heart ?
Let me choose one short word for timid lips to say :
Ah, my precious ! My delicious ! It shall not be nay !
Howard Glyndon.