He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
TO ONE IN PARADISE.
HOU wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
TO ONE IN PARADISE.
HOU wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,