B L U E
Where thou dwellest, in what grove, Tell me Fair One, tell me Love; Where thou thy charming nest dost build, O thou pride of every field!
Yonder stands a lonely tree, There I live and mourn for thee; Morning drinks my silent tear, And evening winds my sorrow bear.
O thou summer’s harmony, I have liv’d and mourn’d for thee; Each day I mourn along the wood, And night hath heard my sorrows loud.
Dost thou truly long for me? And am I thus sweet to thee? Sorrow now is at an end, O my Lover and my Friend
Come, on wings of joy we’ll fly To where my bower hangs on high; Come, and make thy calm retreat, Among green leaves and blossoms sweet. (The Birds by William Blake)
For my Love