LOVE, THE GUEST
I did not dream that Love would stay,
I deemed him but a passing guest,
Yet here he lingers many a day.
I said, “Young Love will flee with May,
And leave forlorn the hearth he blest”;
I did not dream that Love would stay.
My envious neighbor mocks me “Nay,
Love lies not long in any nest”;
Yet here he lingers many a day.
And though I did his will alway,
And gave him even of my best;
I did not dream that Love would stay.
I have no skill to bid him stay,
Of tripping tongue or cunning jest,
Yet here he lingers many a day.
Beneath his ivory feet I lay
Pale plumage of the ringdove’s breast;
I did not dream that Love would stay.
Will Love be flown? I ofttimes say,
Home turning for the noonday rest;
Yet here he lingers many a day.
His gold curls gleam, his lips are gay,
His eyes through tears smile loveliest;
I did not dream that love would stay.
He sometimes sighs when far away
The low red sun makes fair the west,
Yet here he lingers many a day.
Thrice blest of all men am I! yea,
Although of all unworthiest;
I did not dream that Love would stay,
Yet here he lingers many a day.
Graham R. Tomson.