| |
| IN summer’s mellow midnight, | |
| A cloudless moon shone through | |
| Our open parlour window, | |
| And rose-trees wet with dew. | |
| |
| I sat in silent musing, | 5 |
| The soft wind waved my hair; | |
| It told me heaven was glorious, | |
| And sleeping earth was fair. | |
| |
| I needed not its breathing | |
| To bring such thoughts to me; | 10 |
| But still it whispered lowly, | |
| How dark the woods will be! | |
| |
| “The thick leaves in my murmur | |
| Are rustling like a dream, | |
| And all their myriad voices | 15 |
| Instinct with spirit seem.” | |
| |
| I said, “Go, gentle singer, | |
| Thy wooing voice is kind: | |
| But do not think its music | |
| Has power to reach my mind. | 20 |
| |
| “Play with the scented flower, | |
| The young tree’s supple bough, | |
| And leave my human feelings | |
| In their own course to flow.” | |
| |
| The wanderer would not heed me; | 25 |
| Its kiss grew warmer still. | |
| “Oh come!” it sighed so sweetly; | |
| “I’ll win thee ’gainst thy will. | |
| |
| “Were we not friends from childhood? | |
| Have I not loved thee long? | 30 |
| As long as thou, the solemn night, | |
| Whose silence wakes my song. | |
| |
| “And when thy heart is resting | |
| Beneath the church-aisle stone, | |
| I shall have time for mourning, | 35 |
| And thou for being alone.” | |
| |
