Love, does my love with weary burden fall

Daily upon thy too accustomed ear

With words so oft repeated that the dear,

Sweet tones of early joy begin to pall?

What gift of loving may I give to call

Again to your deep eyes of brown the tear

Of welling, full delight and love, the clear,

Rose-petaled blush that holds my heart in thrall?

Not all the homage of the bees that wing

Laden with honey through the clover days

Wearies the tiny queen with heavy tune!

Not all the rapture of the birds that fling

Love melodies adrift through leafy ways

Burdens the mothers on their nests in June!