In Garden Plot, O Nightingale, do not
rock upon this flower stem today;
For these buds swinging in deep sleep,
Unbroken dozing slumber lay.
Oh how north winds blow now!
Empty branches bow, day and night!
Absent is the southern breeze,
singing melodies, honey bees are in dismay!
When will that virgin flower
sunder sleeps power, opening wide in blossom?
By morning cheeks in red, breaking slumber’s stay.
Springtime wakes the bud wide,
breaking each side, bringing a flowering flood.
Flowering bud’s, parting lips pursed
into laughter burst, dimpled cheeks display.
Oh poet! you forgot the scent, so
sinking down low, fail to find that shore.
The flower in past, that had filled your breast,
Now, o’erflowed it lies, ‘neath a flood of watering eyes.