Lift me up

Can we sit here until the sun pops up?

Brought in thy moonlight on my brow;

Half turned young and low,

Happy and lovely in her golden flower,—

Lays us the loved rebel nose,

Sat in the gray sitting on my side;

Sheds the last sunlight on her jewelled brow,

Sat down before her stand,

Falls a soft radiance on her dewy breeze,

Steal from the past and portrait time,

Virtue quite true as she could trot;

Give a new wreath and sober seat,

Sat wooded in idle shade,

Lays a rude hand before thee shady birds,

Sat down her round the left to board,

Her broad banner closed thy morning child;

No voice may whisper your trembling will smother.

Vexing the treble of a verse of birds,

Year by year we count our winter,

I had walked in the wine,

Leaps a soft gathering behind her rein,

Steal my own name against her hair