She Is Coming, My Own, My Sweet

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed,
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

Crowd Score: 0.0


📖

Want to save this story?

Create a free account to build your personal library of favorite stories