by Paul T. Payne
As wings of gold and green fly high,
And whisper gently climbs the sky.
While moon doth lift above the moor,
And cool wind blows on hither fire.
So clench my hand so tight in thine,
When soon the stars begin to shine.
For just as bright as embers burn,
My simple heart doth surely yearn.
Sleep tight my love, for I am thine,
Whilst quiet now, sleeps morning vine.
And softly falls the stream like wine,
To touch your lips as light doth shine.
For gently lifts the morning frost,
No sooner gone, night's shadows lost.
So bid me wake through morning dew,
Of nature's shafts of golden hue.
For here we lie in splendor bed,
Of autumn leaves of orange and red.
So begins a day anew,
Till morrow's night I dream of you.
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