Gifts
It is but little I can bring,
My lady, I who only sing,
For gifts you slumber dreaming of.
I can but give you love for love.
Others may bring you gems to wear
Agleam on wrist and throat and hair.
I can but give a rhyme, my dear,
A kiss—and now and then a tear!
My lady, I who only sing,
For gifts you slumber dreaming of.
I can but give you love for love.
Others may bring you gems to wear
Agleam on wrist and throat and hair.
I can but give a rhyme, my dear,
A kiss—and now and then a tear!
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