I'Ll Tell You This Poem by Peter S. Quinn

I'll tell you this, when night is young,
A word away, to star away song
That calls on bright, into its own;
And lays its sweetly dawn summer gown.
Of dreams that I heard in one time,
Both that of blank verse and that of rime;
With sweetest word - it ever talked,
In - on those milky ways it walked.

First, tell me what you think of me,
For I have a love and a dream to see;
And I have found flowers, within this fall,
In endless shading, in each their call...
Oh hold attest and listen close,
For you might hear
When the breeze there blows,
Or a daisy, giving its purest delight,
That none for long can give a fight.

I'll tell you this, what I caught aloud,
For I listened closely, and heard what it's about:
The song that is calling from a windowsill
Or from the green woods, or top of a hill.