User:Phaedriel/Today/June 28, 2007

I know a place for loitering feet

Deep in the valley where the breeze

Makes melody in lichened boughs,

And murmurs low love-litanies.

And there my love and I may walk

And harken to the lapsing fall

Of unseen brooks and tender winds,

And wooing birds that sweetly call.

And every voice to her will say

What I repeat in dear refrain,

And eyes will meet with seeking eyes,

And hands will clasp in Lovers' Lane.

Come, sweet-heart, then, and we will stray

Adown that valley, lingering long,

Until the rose is wet with dew,

And robins come to evensong,

And woo each other, borrowing speech

Of love from winds and brooks and birds,

Until our sundered thoughts are one

And hearts have no more need of words.

Mathilde Blind