by Robert Laurence Binyon
It was Spring, the sweet Spring, when first I met with Love.
Suddenly I raised my eyes; and he stood there.
He was so beautiful, I could not look elsewhere.
For joy I could not speak; I gazed but could not move;
But all my body trembled, as he spoke and stole,
With his voice's wonder, my surrendered soul.
Ah, why was there none nigh, to whisper me, Beware?
Last updated January 14, 2019