Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Lake is at Rest

​
The Lake Is at Rest.
    The lake is at rest, love,    The sun's on its breast, love;How bright is its water, how pleasant to see!    Its verdant banks showing    The richest flowers blowing—A picture of bliss, and an emblem of thee.
​
    Then oh! fairest maiden,    When earth is arrayed inThe beauties of heaven, o'er mountain and lea;    Let me still delight in    The glories that brighten,For they are, dear Anna, sweet emblems of thee.
    But, Anna! why redden?    I would not, fair maiden,My tongue could pronounce what might tend to betray    The traitor; the demon    Who could deceive woman,His soul's all unfit for the glories of day.
    Believe me then, fairest,    To me thou art dearest;And though I in raptures view lake, stream, and tree—    With flower-blooming mountains,    And crystalline fountains,I view them, fair maid, but as emblems of thee.

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.