adamdaniel

Let Fair Astarte Sing!

Leaves of red and mauve and gold,
Displayed in triumph, fine and bold,
Above the fountain where we sold,
Our souls to cupid’s hold.

Bodies white, in sun so clean,
Enamoured of the summer sheen,
In svelteness wandering the green,
By fountains filled pristine.

Silken shawls and doves above,
The curtain silence knit with love,
The season as our treasure trove,
In gratitude thereof.

I said to thee by looks alone,
That all my being thou hadst known,
My heart unto thy keeping flown,
And all my ardour shown.

Astarte is the muse we name,
Her fervency our sacred flame,
Her magnanimity we claim,
Her passion is our aim.

The breezes soft as silky dreams,
The water in the noonday beams,
My reverence for thee it seems,
Is bright as starry gleams.

Tis unto thee my soul belongs!
As summer glory gaily throngs,
As fair Astarte sings her songs,
Of love as loud as gongs.

The ornaments of heaven ours!
Below these overhanging bowers,
Such love to glut our gifted hours,
A bounty, like the flowers.

The bees are making merry dance,
Upon the garden in romance,
My treasure is thy winsome glance,
I’d die within thy trance!

I pledge to thee my everything,
As heaven’s angels duly bring,
That brand of love to which we cling;
Let fair Astarte sing!

The jubilation of the heart,
Wherefrom, my sweet, we na’er depart,
Let all the high hosanas start!
Astarte’s joy impart!