TO THE BUSY LASS

Where the trees relish with their shade
And winsome flowers blow fragrance:
You said, there; shall you not promenade

You lady, that plays not in greeny grass
Folly; is love, that intrudes your time?
But now, I idolize you, ’tis busy lass!

How, how will I wreak asunder?
Between you and pages that firmed thee
O, but for love; I must come yonder

Where the gardeners mow and scent;
Lets be there, O, lets be there!
That your brain in sweet be content

And make love our timeless business
Though now you may decline
But let our mines, be shelves of loveliness!

To love is all,
Than melody heed alone in the class
O, let thy eyes then see beyond
And yet deny not love, o you busy lass!

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