Villanelle

Come! to the woods, love, let us go!
Let us go pluck the purple flowers,
And rest where rosy blossoms blow.

’Twixt glade and shade the sun shall throw
A halo round the laughing hours;—
Come! to the woods, love, let us go!

There are dim nooks the Dryads know,
And we can hide in hawthorn-bowers,
And rest where rosy blossoms blow.

Shall not the fairies passing strow
On us the dainty petal-showers?
Come! to the woods, love, let us go.

And we will roam by rills that flow
’Neath skies from which no tempest lowers;
We’ll rest where rosy blossoms blow.

Come, heart! Come, sweetheart, even so
Life’s holiest rapture shall be ours;—
Come! to the woods, love, let us go,
And rest where rosy blossoms blow.

Samuel Waddington.