 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
TRYSTING
“Down at the turn of the road
Wait for me, dearest, at eight!”
Here, at the turn of the road,
I loiter, and linger, and wait.
Wait for me, dearest, at eight!”
Here, at the turn of the road,
I loiter, and linger, and wait.
I was here when the flickering day
Went out in a lingering flame;
I was here in the twilight gray,
And the stars have come since I came.
Went out in a lingering flame;
I was here in the twilight gray,
And the stars have come since I came.
From the wooded crest of the hill
Orion looks over the lea,
And Cetus is glimmering still
In a purple and crimson sea.
Orion looks over the lea,
And Cetus is glimmering still
In a purple and crimson sea.
And the Pleiads—all but the one,
Withdrawn in her maidenly shame
For the love that a mortal won—
Are here, and you should be the same.
Withdrawn in her maidenly shame
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Are here, and you should be the same.
She comes not! I turn to the right,
And the white road dips in the gloom;
She comes not! the left to my sight
Is silent and dark as the tomb.
And the white road dips in the gloom;
She comes not! the left to my sight
Is silent and dark as the tomb.
Those tender palms on my eyes?
Those slender arms round me thrown?
Cupid, you cannot disguise
Those rosy lips at my own!
Those slender arms round me thrown?
Cupid, you cannot disguise
Those rosy lips at my own!
Here, at the turn of the road!
“Forgive me, my love, if I'm late!”
Down at the turn of the road,
Cupid, oh! who would n't wait?
“Forgive me, my love, if I'm late!”
Down at the turn of the road,
Cupid, oh! who would n't wait?
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |