Work Text:
Lyrics Written on a May Afternoon (also known as "To His Love")
We laid upon early summer’s green grass
And talked of great and trifling things.
I picked a cloud from the afternoon sky,
And put it in your buttonhole.
Beneath a tree, through the dappling leaves
The sun alighted on your hair
And I watched you as you keenly observed
A flitting, brown moth-butterfly.
Your mind was captured and driven to speak
Of Lepidopteran Terpsichores
And I was glad, for apostrophes yours
Stir any soul with radiant light.
Upon my head was a cornflower wreath
That you had idly woven up
O things so small! they are crucial to me!
A flower, a laugh, the briefest touch!
We placed our hands in each-other’s, as one;
We climbed a tree, to chase the sun,
My flute sang solemnly up to our stars
Of sunset, faith, and comfort: love.
Your skilful talk and your glances of gold,
Your constant face and countenance,
I capture not with a flick of my pen—
Alas the poet daring such!
My heart would burst like a Prince-Rupert’s-drop
If Night us rent before the Dawn,
And yet I know we shall e’er be close-joined
My learned friend! My dearest love!