I know the Land of Kisses
Passing well, well, well;
Who seeks it often misses—
Let me tell.
Fly, lover, like a swallow,
Where your lady goes;
You'll find it if you follow,
'Neath the Rose.
SAID THE THISTLE-DOWN.
"If thou wilt hold my silver hair,
O Lady sweet and bright;
I'll bring thee, maiden darling, where
Thy lover is to-night.
Lay down thy robe of cloth of gold—
Gold, weigheth heavily,
Thy necklace wound in jewell'd fold,
And hie thee forth with me."
"O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down,
I've laid my robe aside;
My necklace and my jewell'd crown,
And yet I cannot glide
Along the silver crests of night
With thee, light thing, with thee.
Rain would I try the airy flight,
What sayest thou to me?"
"If thou wilt hold my silver hair,
O maiden fair and proud;
We'll float upon the purple air
High as yon lilied cloud.
There is a jewel weighs thy heart;
If thou with me wouldst glide
That cold, cold jewel place apart—
The jewel of thy pride!"
"O Thistle-down, dear Thistle-down
That jewel part I've set;
With golden robe and shining crown
And cannot follow yet!
Fain would I clasp thy silver tress
And float on high with thee;
Yet somewhat me to earth doth press—
What sayest thou to me?
"If thou wilt hold my silver hair
O lady, sweet and chaste;
We'll dance upon the sparkling air
And to thy lover haste.
A lily lies upon thy breast
Snow-white as it can be—
It holds thee strong—sweet, with the rest
Yield lilied chastity."
"O Thistle-down, false Thistle-down
I've parted Pride and Gold;
Laid past my jewels and my crown—
My golden robings' fold.
I will not lay my lily past—
Love's light as vanity
When to the mocking wind is cast
The lily, Chastity."
BOUCHE-MIGNONNE.
Bouche-Mignonne liv'd in the mill;
Past the vineyards shady;
Where the sun shone on a rill
Jewell'd like a lady.
Proud the stream with lily-bud,
Gay with glancing swallow;
Swift its trillion-footed flood,
Winding ways to follow.
Coy and still when flying wheel
Rested from its labour;
Singing when it ground the meal
Gay as lute or tabor.
"Bouche-Mignonne" it called, when, red
In the dawn were glowing,
Eaves and mill-wheel, "leave thy bed,
"Hark to me a-flowing!"