 | Poems Lyrical and Dramatic |  |
I.
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?
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?
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,
73
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?
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.
| Poems Lyrical and Dramatic | |