Mountain, hill, and dale
Rejoice in your fair sight
With joy that does exceed
The gladness of the May.
Soft airs and winds shall play
About the place you stay
And winds of gentlest gale
Shall bear my words to you.
And every leaf and bow'r,
By some sweet tincture stor'd,
Shall be perfum'd, my love,
Your breath, your kiss, your touch.
When dewy stars appear,
And Phoebus is withdrawn,
In glimmering bowers of green,
My Fair shall sit alone;
And when she hears the sound
Of my melodious voice,
O how I long to be! O how I long to be!
About the Creator
John Welford
John was a retired librarian, having spent most of his career in academic and industrial libraries.
He wrote on a number of subjects and also wrote stories as a member of the "Hinckley Scribblers".
Unfortunately John died in early July.
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More stories from John Welford and writers in Poets and other communities.
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