From whose lips the streams of words ran sweeter than honey.

How sweet I roamed from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

This summer which was now passing—never had anyone lived such a summer! Nature had given him the happiness of a blossom. She gave him love and a palace, and put precious poetry into his mouth; it was all one long, unbroken romance. And now everything was lost, his poems, his love and his palace, withered, burnt; forlorn and helpless, he faced the desolation of winter.

For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
'Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.

"It was mostly sweet," he whispered, "and you were the sweetest of all."

She spoke, they were but a few hurried words —
Of the sweet flowers around, the heat, the night —
Yet were they such as the blest heart records
For many an after-moment's long delight ;
They touch'd upon his spirit's inmost chords ;
Though broken was the sense, the accents light,
Yet sweeter was to him that tremulous tone
Than all that eloquence were proud to own.

She listened to him all night and he found her fascinating.

I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed — that voice was a deathless song.

When she said his name, it sounded like honey tastes.

Love hath so long possessed me for his own
And made his lordship so familiar.

And we were trying different things,
We were smoking funny things,
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song.
Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow,
Singing "Sweet Home Alabama" all summer long.
Singing "Sweet Home Alabama" all summer long.

When the poets rhyme in the summertime/You'll hear melodies in the words

Summer-we all have seen-
A few of us-believed-
A few the more aspiring
Unquestionably loves... .