W.B.

The Birds


He.    Where thou dwellest, in what grove,
          Tell me Fair One, tell me Love;
          Where thou thy charming nest dost build,
          O thou pride of every field!

She.    Yonder stands a lonely tree,
          There I live and mourn for thee;
          Morning drinks my silent tear,
          And evening winds my sorrow bear.

He.    O thou summer’s harmony,
          I have liv’d and mourn’d for thee;
          Each day I mourn along the wood,
          And night hath heard my sorrows loud.

She.    Dost thou truly long for me?
          And am I thus sweet to thee?
          Sorrow now is at an end,
          O my Lover and my Friend!

He.    Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly
          To where my bower hangs on high;
          Come, and make thy calm retreat,
          Among green leaves and blossoms sweet.


From the later poems in the Rossetti manuscript, written ca.1800-1810, published by Dante Rossetti, 1863.

William Blake.