On Viol and Flute By Edmund W. Gosse |
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SONG. |
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 | On Viol and Flute |  |
101
SONG.
I have risen from rest on a sleepless bed
For my sense was still full of your wonderful hair,
And a sorrowful doubt had crept into my head
That it might not be fair;
So come out to me now while the moon is on high,
Like a sickle of fire on a blue-green sky,
For the blossoms are full on the tulipan-tree,
And are waiting for thee!
For my sense was still full of your wonderful hair,
And a sorrowful doubt had crept into my head
That it might not be fair;
So come out to me now while the moon is on high,
Like a sickle of fire on a blue-green sky,
For the blossoms are full on the tulipan-tree,
And are waiting for thee!
Am I fool or grown mad to be waiting you here?
For the river descending that flows underground
Bears your ghost like the shade of a leaf that is sere,
Coiling you round and round;
And the dark deal planks and the dusty air
Have taken the sunlight all out of your hair,
And that is the reason I could not find sleep;
Let me weep, let me weep!
For the river descending that flows underground
Bears your ghost like the shade of a leaf that is sere,
Coiling you round and round;
And the dark deal planks and the dusty air
Have taken the sunlight all out of your hair,
And that is the reason I could not find sleep;
Let me weep, let me weep!
| On Viol and Flute | |