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Metrical essays

on subjects of history and imagination. By Charles Swain
 
 

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120

SERENADE.

“It is my love that calls.”
Romeo and Juliet

I

Lady, list! thy lover's singing,
Night her holiest hour is bringing;
Soft the summer waves are sleeping,
And the roses perfume weeping:
Never came a time more sweet
For Love to sigh at Beauty's feet;
Never shone the stars more bright,
A lady's gentle steps to light;
Then linger not, but come to me
My own fair flower, my deity!

121

II

But if eyes that would betray thee
From thy lover's bosom stay thee;
Eyes that, while the night advances,
Watch thee, love, with dark, cold glances:
Waft from thy fair hand a kiss—
And I shall know our fate from this;
And I will breathe a low Good-night,
Yet linger still within thy sight;
And should those looks be turned from thee,
Light of my heart, oh, come to me!