*****
There’s a plate upon my wall
Don’t know what it’s made of at all
It could not give me more pleasure
If it were most precious treasure
Indeed, in antiquity
When their finest jewels see
There nothing approaching is,
For beautiful fine artwork, this
A nine inch disk of cameo
Upon a cloudy background go
Wherein two hopeful lovers sit
Midst trees, by brooklet — all of it
So faithfully recorded, they
Take me to that place away
With young lovers ‘neath the leaves
Feel the crisply searching breeze
Which blows her ribbons some awry
They know them not how nearly I
Heark to their speaking — hopeful and
Illision filled, right out of hand!
She knows not yet his snores will be
The death of sleep’s felicity
Forever after that sweet day
Their wedding coach takes them away
Nor he her tendency to lie —
Let them discover by and by
Leave them this moment to command
The castles they build in the sand
