<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477548" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Bridal Measure</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, essay a sprightly measure,<br>Tuned to some light song of pleasure.<br>Maidens, let your brows be crowned<br>As we foot this merry round.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the ground a voice is singing,<br>From the sod a soul is springing.<br>Who shall say 't is but a clod<br>Quick'ning upward toward its God?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who shall say it? Who may know it,<br>That the clod is not a poet<br>Waiting but a gleam to waken<br>In a spirit music-shaken?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Phyllis, Phyllis, why be waiting?<br>In the woods the birds are mating.<br>From the tree beside the wall,<br>Hear the am'rous robin call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listen to yon thrush's trilling;<br>Phyllis, Phyllis, are you willing,<br>When love speaks from cave and tree,<br>Only we should silent be?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the year, itself renewing,<br>All the world with flowers is strewing,<br>Then through Youth's Arcadian land,<br>Love and song go hand in hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, unfold your vocal treasure,<br>Sing with me a nuptial measure,--<br>Let this springtime gambol be<br>Bridal dance for you and me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Paul+Laurence+Dunbar">Paul Laurence Dunbar</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=477548" data-title="A Bridal Measure de Paul Laurence Dunbar" data-description="Come, essay a sprightly measure, Tuned to some light song of pleasure. Maidens, let your brows be crowned As we foot this merry round. From the ground a voice is singing, From the sod a soul is springing. Who shall say 't is but a clod Quick'ning..."></div> </div> </div>

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