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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lover’s Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Winter hoar no longer holds<br>The young year in his gripe,<br>And bleating voices fill the folds,<br>And blackbirds pair and pipe;<br>Then coax the maiden where the sap<br>Awakes the woodlands drear,<br>And pour sweet wildflowers in her lap,<br>And sweet words in her ear.<br>For Springtime is the season, sure,<br>Since Love's game first was played,<br>When tender thoughts begin to lure<br>The heart of April maid,<br>Of maid,<br>The heart of April maid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When June is wreathed with wilding rose,<br>And all the buds are blown,<br>And O, 'tis joy to dream and doze<br>In meadows newly mown;<br>Then take her where the graylings leap,<br>And where the dabchick dives,<br>Or where the bees in clover reap<br>The harvest for their hives.<br>For Summer is the season when,<br>If you but know the way,<br>A maid that's kissed will kiss again,<br>Then pelt you with the hay,<br>The hay,<br>Then pelt you with the hay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When sickles ply among the wheat,<br>Then trundle home the sheaves,<br>And there's a rustling of the feet<br>Through early-fallen leaves;<br>Entice her where the orchard glows<br>With apples plump and tart,<br>And tell her plain the thing she knows,<br>And ask her for her heart.<br>For Autumn is the season, boy,<br>To gather what we sow:<br>If you be bold, she won't be coy,<br>Nor ever say you no,<br>Say no,<br>Nor ever say you no.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When woodmen clear the coppice lands,<br>And arch the hornbeam drive,<br>And stamp their feet, and chafe their hands,<br>To keep their blood alive;<br>Then lead her where, when vows are heard,<br>The church-bells peal and swing,<br>And, as the parson speaks the word,<br>Then on her clap the ring.<br>For Winter is a cheerless time<br>To live and lie alone;<br>But what to him is snow or rime,<br>Who calls his love his own,<br>His own,<br>Who calls his love his own?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341470" data-title="The Lover’s Song de Alfred Austin" data-description="When Winter hoar no longer holds
The young year in his gripe,
And bleating voices fill the folds,
And blackbirds pair and pipe;
Then coax the maiden where the sap
Awakes the woodlands drear,
And pour sweet wildflowers in her lap,
And sweet words i..."></div>
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