NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wreath <br /> That she with her own dainty hands did twine; <br />Gold-hearted blossoms and blue buds in sheath, <br /> Mingled with veined green leaves of the wild vine. <br />Then, bending down her bright head—ah, too nigh!— <br /> She asks me for a song: the daylight dies: <br />The song is still unwritten: still I lie <br /> Watching the purple twilight of her eyes. <br /> <br />I am her laureate; therefore heart of grace <br /> I take to kiss her. Where was song like this? <br />Love is best sung of in a loveless place, <br /> For who would care to sing where he might kiss? <br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ne-ra-s-wreath/
