Daire Town Air

 Would God I were the soft bud of the fruit tree
 That floats and falls from off the twist-shaped bough
 To lie and faint, there, in your soft fair breast be,
 There in your soft fair breast as that does now!
 Or would I were the fruit that grows from out that bloom
 For you to pluck, as you glide by so cold
 While sun and shade your robe of lawn with light plume,
 Your robe of lawn, and your hair's spun gold.

 Yea, would to God I were in where the rose is
 That leans to kiss you as you float on by,
 While on a branch down low a bud that blows is
 A bud that blows but to touch you Queen.
 Nay, since you will not love, would I were there now,
 So glad to grow, there in the flow'r-decked path
 That so your gold foot might press me so fair now,
 Press me so fair e'en though its touch mean death!

                                -- not known
                                   (done by Kip W.)