Classic Poem

" Golden haired, lily white,
Will you pluck me lilies?
Or will you show me where they grow,
Show where the limpid rill is?
But is your hair of gold or light,
And is your foot of flake or fire,
And have you wings rolled up from sight
And songs to slake desire? "

" I pluck fresh flowers of Paradise,
Lilies and roses red,
A bending sceptre for my hand,
A crown to crown my head.
I sing my songs, I pluck my flowers
Sweet-scented from their fragrant trees;
I sing, we sing, amid the bowers
And gather palm-branches. "

" Is there a path to Heaven
My stumbling foot may tread?
And will you show that way to go,
That bower and blossom bed? "
" The path to Heaven is steep and straight
And scorched, but ends in shade of trees,
Where yet a while we sing and wait
And gather palm-branches. "