Which yesterday seemed such a foolish thing?
Love lies a-sleeping: nay, for such a thing
Break not his slumber. See how sweetly goes
That smile across his lips, that will not sing
For very wilfulness. Love hath no heart!
If he should wake, these red-ripe lips would part
In laughter low to see this ravished rose.
Love lies a-sleeping: so the full-blown rose
Falls to the earth a dead unpitied thing;
The grasses ’neath the breeze deep-sighing part