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When Hearts Are Trumps

by Tom Hall

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Hyacinths

Hyacinths, tenderly sweet,
  Is it life that you ask in your prayer?
Ah, I would die at her feet,
  If I could be one of you there.

There on her billowy breast,
  So near to her innocent heart,
That its beating would lull me to rest,
  And to dream I should never depart.

Sighing are you for the stars?
  Look in the depths of her eyes.
Is there a gem of the Czar’s
  So much like those gems of the skies?

Is it the dew that you miss?
  Hyacinths, hyacinths, wait.
Soon she will give you a kiss.
  Oh, how I envy your fate!

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