 | Poems |  |
1.
WATCHMAN.The night is dark, the wall is black,
And the fosse beneath likewise;
Johannes on the high tower sleeps,
His hound beside him lies.
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Fair lady, scarce now one short hour
Is wanting ere the morn,
And yet I have not dared to say
What this heart long hath borne
Still waiting and waiting for this sweet time,
This rare brief happiness,
To see thee o'er me, to hear thee speak,
Thy hand at least to kiss.
LADY.
I know what thou wouldst say, fair sir,
I know what thou wouldst hear,
Though better that it be not said,—
A dream, a trance, a tear.
Oft have I sat lone days and nights
And trembled at the past,
And sure, fair sir, 'twere better far
This tryste should be our last.
| Poems | |