Love quietly sleeping in my feather bed,

Sweet Spring songs serenading silver panes;

Dark raven tresses wreathe her dreaming head

And soft the sound of gently falling rain…

Outside a call—a lone whippoorwill sings,

Sage prophet of the dusk and rising dawn,

Harbinger of fate’s uncertain wings—

His cryptic augury enshrined in song.

Yet now the world feels so wholly right;

No bird or beast to mar this peaceful morn,

No omen dark to cloud love’s perfect light

As cherished beauty lies in slumber, warm.

No prince or pauper met a grander day

For soon I kneel, and beg she ever stay.