The flower-bearing Amra tree
Doth long, with fragrant moan, to meet
The love-lip of the honey-bee.
But not the Amra tree can long
To greet the bee, at evening light,
With half the deep, fond love I long
To meet my Nama here to-night.
Then come, love, come!
What a boon would a volume of poems, modeled on the above principle of architecture, be to perthonth troubled with a lithp; whose reading at present (through the perverseness of the English language), sounds thus:
Thweetly murmurth the breethe from the thea,