A Love Song
OH, to think, oh, to think as I see her stand there
With the rose that I plucked in her glorious hair,
In the robe that I love.
So demure and so neat,
I am lord of her lips and her eyes and her feet.
Oh, to think, oh, to think when the last hedge is leapt,
When the blood is awakened that dreamingly slept,
I shall make her heart throb
In its cradle of lace,
As the lord of her hair and her breast and her face.
Oh, to think, oh, to think when our wedding-bells ring,
When our love’s at the summer but life’s at the spring,
I shall guard her asleep
As my hound guards her glove,
Being lord of her life and her heart and her love!
Norman R. Gale.