First Lines of Gerald Massey
Before the grim Grave closes, let me dropFarewell, Sweet! may you find a nestGaily the Sun woos the Spring for his Bride,Like leaves from Autumn's bough, Old Friend,Methought to bear her branches crownedMy Love is true and tender,No jewell'd Beauty is my Love,O lay thy hand in mine, dear!O love will make the leal heart acheSoftly sink in slumbers golden,Softly stept she over the lawn,With a white hand like a lady,