 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
SONG FROM A DRAMA
I know not if moonlight or starlight
Be soft on the land and the sea,—
I catch but the near light, the far light,
Of eyes that are burning for me;
The scent of the night, of the roses,
May burden the air for thee, Sweet,—
'T is only the breath of thy sighing
I know, as I lie at thy feet.
Be soft on the land and the sea,—
I catch but the near light, the far light,
Of eyes that are burning for me;
The scent of the night, of the roses,
May burden the air for thee, Sweet,—
'T is only the breath of thy sighing
I know, as I lie at thy feet.
The winds may be sobbing or singing,
Their touch may be fervent or cold,
The night-bells may toll or be ringing,—
I care not, while thee I enfold!
The feast may go on, and the music
Be scattered in ecstasy round,—
Thy whisper, “I love thee! I love thee!”
Hath flooded my soul with its sound.
Their touch may be fervent or cold,
The night-bells may toll or be ringing,—
I care not, while thee I enfold!
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Be scattered in ecstasy round,—
Thy whisper, “I love thee! I love thee!”
Hath flooded my soul with its sound.
I think not of time that is flying,
How short is the hour I have won,
How near is this living to dying,
How the shadow still follows the sun;
There is naught upon earth, no desire,
Worth a thought, though 't were had by a sign!
I love thee! I love thee! bring nigher
Thy spirit, thy kisses, to mine.
How short is the hour I have won,
How near is this living to dying,
How the shadow still follows the sun;
There is naught upon earth, no desire,
Worth a thought, though 't were had by a sign!
I love thee! I love thee! bring nigher
Thy spirit, thy kisses, to mine.
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |