Villanelle

“I did not dream that Love would stay.
I deemed him but a passing guest,
Yet here he lingers many a day.

I said young Love will flee with May
And leave forlorn the hearth he blest,”
I did not dream that Love would stay.

My envious neighbour mocks me, “Nay,
Love lies not long in any nest.”
Yet here he lingers many a day.

And though I did his will alway,
And gave him even of my best,
I did not dream that Love would stay.

I have no skill to bid him stay,
Of tripping tongue or cunning jest,
Yet here he lingers many a day.

Beneath his ivory feet I lay
Pale plumage of the ringdove’s breast,
I did not dream that Love would stay.

Will Love be flown? I ofttimes say,
Home turning for the noonday rest,
Yet here he lingers many a day.

His gold curls gleam, his lips are gay,
His eyes through tears smile loveliest;
I did not dream that Love would stay.

He sometimes sighs, when far away
The low red sun makes fair the west,
Yet here he lingers many a day.

Thrice blest of all men am I! yea,
Although of all unworthiest;
I did not dream that Love would stay,
Yet here he lingers many a day.

Graham R. Tomson.