Come To Me
Yon dew-kissed rose doth sweetly touch your face
and shames its bloom which turneth from the glow,
in disappointment not to match your grace,
it quickly wilts; for this, my love, I know...
None can compare, not one, my love to thee
and yet I must so patiently abide
until the moment that our hearts be free,
until the day thou come to me, my bride.
Oh bitter sting of families at war,
pettiness and rancour drives them on.
Please flee with me, for I can take no more,
let them rise to find their turtle-dove is gone.
Leave with me love, before the new day breaks,
and light through yonder window, fam'ly wakes.
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