| THE oleander on the wall | |
| Grows crimson in the dawning light, | |
| Though the grey shadows of the night | |
| Lie yet on Florence like a pall. | |
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| The dew is bright upon the hill, | 5 |
| And bright the blossoms overhead, | |
| But ah! the grasshoppers have fled, | |
| The little Attic song is still. | |
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| Only the leaves are gently stirred | |
| By the soft breathing of the gale, | 10 |
| And in the almond-scented vale | |
| The lonely nightingale is heard. | |
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| The day will make thee silent soon, | |
| O nightingale sing on for love! | |
| While yet upon the shadowy grove | 15 |
| Splinter the arrows of the moon. | |
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| Before across the silent lawn | |
| In sea-green mist the morning steals, | |
| And to love’s frightened eyes reveals | |
| The long white fingers of the dawn | 20 |
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| Fast climbing up the eastern sky | |
| To grasp and slay the shuddering night, | |
| All careless of my heart’s delight, | |
| Or if the nightingale should die. | |
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