| |
| O, HOW the nights are short, | |
| These heavenly nights of June! | |
| The long hot day amort | |
| With toil, the time to court | |
| So stinted in its boon! | 5 |
| |
| But three or four brief hours | |
| Between the afterglow | |
| And dawnlight; while the flowers | |
| Are dreaming in their bowers, | |
| And birds their song forgo; | 10 |
| |
| And in the noon of night, | |
| As in the noon of day, | |
| Flowers close on their delight, | |
| Birds nestle from their flight, | |
| Deep stillness holdeth sway: | 15 |
| |
| Only the nightingales | |
| Yet sing to moon and stars, | |
| Although their full song fails; | |
| The corncrake never quails, | |
| But through the silence jars. | 20 |
| |
| So few brief hours of peace; | |
| And only one for us, | |
| Alone, in toil’s surcease, | |
| To feed on love’s increase: | |
| It is too cruel thus! | 25 |
| |
| Did little Mother chide | |
| Because our sewing dropp’d | |
| And we sat dreamy-eyed? | |
| Dear Mother, good betide, | |
| The scolding must be stopp’d. | 30 |
| |
| Dear Mother, good and true, | |
| All-loving while you blame, | |
| When spring brings skies of blue | |
| And buds and flowers anew, | |
| I come in with my claim! | 35 |
| |
| I claim my Love, my Own, | |
| Yet ever yours the while, | |
| Under whose care hath grown | |
| The sweetest blossom blown | |
| In all our flower-loved isle. | 40 |
| |
| The Spring renews its youth | |
| And youth renews its Spring: | |
| Love’s wildest dreams are truth, | |
| Magic is sober sooth; | |
| Charm of the Magic Ring! | 45 |
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