Poems Lyrical and Dramatic :: :: University of Virginia Library

Alone in the light of the moon let me wander,
For sweet is the spell of the night to my breast,
While in musical woe from the forest out yonder
The nightingale warbles her passion to rest.
What is life but a feverish dream at the best,
On a pillow with thorns and with sufferings strown,
Full of visions of blessing that leave us unblest?
Shall a bird in the Spring linger loveless alone?

O God, shall I sink to an idle desponder,
Bewailing as lost what was never possessed,
Or learn the pure love of my bosom to squander
On lips that will answer but coldly when pressed?
Shall I live in the purple of luxury drest,
Like an Orient king on his ivory throne,

By hands that would willingly stab me caressed?
Shall a bird in the Spring linger loveless alone?

Away, subtle vision! e'en now as I ponder
Hope comes to my spirit, a beautiful guest,
And the yearning within me grows deeper and fonder,
True love in the light of its flame confessed.
The eagle may build on the mountain's crest,
And the lion may keep the wild woods for his own:
I can give to my love but a lowly nest.
Shall a bird in the Spring linger loveless alone?

L'Envoy.

Ere the sun of the morrow have set in the west,
I will go to my darling and make my moan.
Think you she will listen to love's request?
Birds in the Spring are not found alone.

II.

When the glow of the languid light was ended
And earth smiled back to the sun's last ray,
And the palace of Heav'n in the west shone splendid
As it opened its gates to the chariot day,

By the bank of a ruffled lake I lay,
And the sigh of the wavelets soothed mine ear—
But what were the words of their longing lay?
She cometh, she cometh, she lingers near.

Then a distant murmuring sound ascended
As the wind in the whispering grass 'gan stray,
And the music of Nature's voices blended
With the tinkle and plash of the falling spray,
As it laughed in the mirth of its wanton play,
Till a voice in my bosom re-echoing clear
Told me the same sweet tale as they—
She cometh, she cometh, she lingers near.

Then I lifted mine eyes, and behold there wended
By the banks of the waters, in white array,
The form that I long had awaited, and then did
My heart for a moment its motion stay,
And the breathless breeze with a mute delay
Sank, and there was not a sound to hear,
But the very silence seemed to say
She cometh, she cometh, she lingers near.

L'Envoy.

She came in the dusk of the twilight grey,
But it was not the maid to my true heart dear,
And the wind laughed loud as I wandered away,
She cometh, she cometh, she lingers near.

III.

Could I see in the tremulous glitter
Of her glances the venom confined?
Could I bring my charmed spirit to quit her
As she lay with locks loose in the wind,
And head on my bosom reclined,
Her lips full of smiles and repose,
While my hand in her own lay resigned—
A worm in the heart of the rose?

I had woven a chaplet to fit her
Of lilies and roses combined:
Were they flowers on that day that were knit, or
Steel fetters to goad my mind?
Were my eyes and my soul made blind?
Did I dream she would love to the close?
Death lurked in the fruit's fair rind,
A worm in the heart of the rose.

All things are half sweet and half bitter;
When we laugh the tears linger behind.
Hear the birds how they restlessly twitter
When their mates have proved false or unkind,
Shallow love a fair bosom may bind:
Rich caskets may trifles enclose:
A fool in her heart may be shrined—
A worm in the heart of the rose.

L'Envoy.

In the garland of life is entwined
The henbane of poisonous woes:
Let the lover beware lest he find
A worm in the heart of the rose.