 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
240
GIULIETTA.
DEDICATED TO G. W. C.
Ah, how still the moonbeams lie
On the dreaming meadows!
How the fire-flies silently
Lighten through the shadows!
All the cypress avenue
Waves its tops against the blue,
As the wind slides whispering through—
He is late in coming!
On the dreaming meadows!
How the fire-flies silently
Lighten through the shadows!
All the cypress avenue
Waves its tops against the blue,
As the wind slides whispering through—
He is late in coming!
There 's the nightingale again!
He alone is waking;
Is it joy or is it pain
That his heart is breaking?
Bliss intense or pain divine?
Both of them, oh Love, are thine!
And this heart, this heart of mine,
With them both is thrilling.
He alone is waking;
Is it joy or is it pain
That his heart is breaking?
Bliss intense or pain divine?
Both of them, oh Love, are thine!
And this heart, this heart of mine,
With them both is thrilling.
From the deep dark orange-grove
Odourous airs are streaming,
Till my thoughts are faint with love—
Faint with blissful dreaming.
Through the slopes of dewy dells
Crickets shake their tiny bells,
And the sky's deep bosom swells
With an infinite yearning.
Odourous airs are streaming,
Till my thoughts are faint with love—
Faint with blissful dreaming.
Through the slopes of dewy dells
241
And the sky's deep bosom swells
With an infinite yearning.
On my heart the silent weight
Of this beauty presses;
Midnight, like a solemn Fate,
Saddens while it blesses.
All alone I cannot bear
This still night and odourous air,
Dearest, come, its bliss to share,
Or I die with longing.
Of this beauty presses;
Midnight, like a solemn Fate,
Saddens while it blesses.
All alone I cannot bear
This still night and odourous air,
Dearest, come, its bliss to share,
Or I die with longing.
I have listened at the doors,
All are calmly sleeping;
I alone for hours and hours
In the dark am weeping.
Only weeping can express
The mysterious deep excess
Of my very happiness,
Therefore I am weeping.
All are calmly sleeping;
I alone for hours and hours
In the dark am weeping.
Only weeping can express
The mysterious deep excess
Of my very happiness,
Therefore I am weeping.
Like a fountain running o'er
With its too great fulness,
Like a lightning-shivered shower
For the fierce noon's coolness,
Like an over-blossomed tree,
That the breeze shakes tenderly,
Love's excess falls off from me
In these tears of gladness.
With its too great fulness,
Like a lightning-shivered shower
For the fierce noon's coolness,
Like an over-blossomed tree,
That the breeze shakes tenderly,
Love's excess falls off from me
In these tears of gladness.
242
Ah, beloved! there you are!
I once more am near you;
Walk not on the gravel there,
Somebody may hear you.
Step upon the noiseless grass;
Oh! if they should hear you pass
We are lost, alas! alas!
We are lost forever!
I once more am near you;
Walk not on the gravel there,
Somebody may hear you.
Step upon the noiseless grass;
Oh! if they should hear you pass
We are lost, alas! alas!
We are lost forever!
Look! the laurels in the light
Seem with eyes to glisten;
All things peep and peer—and night
Holds its breath to listen.
Deeper in the shadow move,
For the moon looks out above,
I am coming to you, love,
In a moment coming.
Seem with eyes to glisten;
All things peep and peer—and night
Holds its breath to listen.
Deeper in the shadow move,
For the moon looks out above,
I am coming to you, love,
In a moment coming.
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |