Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth.

O passing angel, speed me with a song, a melody of heaven to reach my heart and rouse me to the race and make me strong.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

Tread softly! All the earth is holy ground.

Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.

It's surely summer. for there's a swallow: Come one swallow, his mate will follow, The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.