My Beloved. Poem by peter adeleke

My dear one, O awake from thy cold-sleep,

Like an opening rose in a summer's call,

With thy soft-lifted strands that oft rise, fall;

Like a tide-stream in a wild-stormy deep.



And in dawn, when dew rests 'pon the grasses,

And fumes of a seasoned-mist folds away,

On trodden weeds, come, when the sun rises;

From the azure-lined sky in the day.



O my love, with thy ribbon-hued raiment,

That billows in air like a queen's garment,

Underneath the blossom pine, yew-tree's shade;

Sit beside me, ere the jocund-climes fade.



O come, like the shadow of the evening,

When the glinted-sun is fading away,

O rise, like the shrubs of mountain-spring;

With thy cone-shaped eyes, so lovely and gay.



Let us haste, with solemn-songs in our mouth,

Through the sleep of ages, lands of the south;

Where plain dewy fogs yield the leaves to green,

And cuckoo flies out of the spangled wood,
O my beloved, let thy cleansed-eyes be seen;

With mild countenance, that brightens the mood.