Here you will find the Poem Tell thee truth, sweet; no of poet Augusta Davies Webster
TELL thee truth, sweet; no. Truth is cross and sad and cold: Lies are pitiful and kind, Honey-soft as Love's own tongue: Let me, love, lie so. Lies are like a summer wind, Wooing flower-buds to unfold Lies will last while men are young. Tell thee truth, love; no. Let me, sweet, lie so. Lies are Hope's light ministers, Footless birds upon the wing: Truth's a name for plodding care: Tell thee truth, sweet; no. Truth's the east wind on the Spring? 'Tis the wind, not Spring-time, errs. Lies will last while maids are fair. Let me lie, love, so.
