Roberto Ottoboni

The Dryad

She liveth in a tree, this beautiful mysterious sprite,
With golden hair that waveth like autumn leaves
And soulful eyes like elderberries bright.
She is the loveliest thing of everything that breathes
For to ME she hath given her heart of oak,
For to ME all her delicate words are spoke.

I sit me down under the tree where she lives
And bask awhile under its balmy shade,

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