 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
SERENADE
(ADAPTED TO THE LATITUDE OF SAN FRANCISCO)
“O list, lady, list! while thy lover outside
Pours forth those fond accents that thrill thee;
O list! both thy doors and thy windows beside
For fear that some thorough draught chill thee.
The ‘sweet summer morn's’ hanging low in the sky,
And the fog 's drifting wildly around me;
There is damp in my throat, there is sand in my eye,
And my old friend Neuralgia has found me.
Pours forth those fond accents that thrill thee;
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For fear that some thorough draught chill thee.
The ‘sweet summer morn's’ hanging low in the sky,
And the fog 's drifting wildly around me;
There is damp in my throat, there is sand in my eye,
And my old friend Neuralgia has found me.
“O list, lady, list! ere this thin searching mist
Subdues all my amorous frenzy;
The Pleiads' ‘soft influence’ here is, I wist,
Replaced by the harsh influenza;
And now, lady sweet, I must bid thee ‘good-night,’
A night that would quench Hymen's torch, love,
For a lute by the fire is much more polite,
Than a song and catarrh in the porch, love.”
Subdues all my amorous frenzy;
The Pleiads' ‘soft influence’ here is, I wist,
Replaced by the harsh influenza;
And now, lady sweet, I must bid thee ‘good-night,’
A night that would quench Hymen's torch, love,
For a lute by the fire is much more polite,
Than a song and catarrh in the porch, love.”
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |