O SWAY, and swing, and sway, And swing, and sway, and swing ! Ah me, what bliss like unto this, Can days and daylight bring ? A rose beneath your feet Has fallen from my head ; Its odour rises sweet, All crushed it lies, and dead. O Love is like a rose, Fair-hued, of fragrant breath ; A tender flow'r that lives an hour, And is most sweet in death. O swing, and sway, and swing, And rise, and sink, and fall ! There is no bliss like unto this, This is the best of all. |