Sweet World, if you will hear me now:
I may not own a sounding Lyre
And wear my name upon my brow
Like some great jewel quick with fire.
I may not own a sounding Lyre
And wear my name upon my brow
Like some great jewel quick with fire.
But let me, singing, sit apart,
In tender quiet with a few,
And keep my fame upon my heart,
A little blush-rose wet with dew.
In tender quiet with a few,
And keep my fame upon my heart,
A little blush-rose wet with dew.
