HASTE, little fingers, haste, haste! Haste, little fingers, pearly; And all along the slender waist, And up and down the silken sleeves Knot the darling and dainty leaves, And wind o' the south, blow light and fast, And bring the flowers so early! Low, droop low, my tender eyes, Low, and all demurely, And make the shining seams to run Like little streaks o' th' morning sun Through silver clouds so purely; And fall, sweet rain, fall out o' th' skies, And bring the flowers so early! Push, little hands, from the bended face, The tresses crumpled curly, And stitch the hem in the frill of snow And give to the veil its misty flow, And melt, ye frosts, so surly; And shine out, spring, with your days of grace, And bring the flowers so early! |