The Message

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Title:     The Message
Author: Jean Blewett [More Titles by Blewett]

My Marjorie doth hold in her white hands
A spray of lilies plucked below the brook
Where the old ruin of a chapel stands--
A ruin tenanted by many a nook,
And all the grayness of it hid from sight
By gracious draping of the ivy green.
Sweet lilies, 'tis your glorious fate to-night
To lie upon her breast, to send between
Her silken bodice and the heart beneath
The fragrance given you by sun and shower.
Speak subtly with your warm, sweet-scented breath
Till, 'mid the dance and music of the hour,
She turn you love-filled eyes and glowing face,
With: "Ah, ye grew in that old trysting place!"

[The end]
Jean Blewett's poem: Message

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