UPON LOVE'S TIMELESS DANCE

In yon fair glade, where soft winds whisper low,
Doth love’s sweet tendrils through the heartstrings grow.
A gentle breeze, nay, a zephyr’s breath doth stir,
And wakes the soul, as if from drowsy slumber.
’Tis in thine eyes, where constellations dwell,
That I do glimpse the heavens’ fairest spell.
O...