 | Poems by William W. Story |  |
44
IN THE WEST.
The minster clock has struck for ten,
The streets are free from maids and men,
The hour has come, and where—are you?
The streets are free from maids and men,
The hour has come, and where—are you?
The lights that in the chambers shone,
Have slowly vanished, one by one;
But one still shines, and there—are you!
Have slowly vanished, one by one;
But one still shines, and there—are you!
Put out your light, and come, my love!
The wind sighs in the leaves above,
And I beneath them sigh—for you!
The wind sighs in the leaves above,
And I beneath them sigh—for you!
The little brook talks all alone,
Unto the long, flat, mossy stone,
Where silently I wait—for you!
Unto the long, flat, mossy stone,
Where silently I wait—for you!
45
I see the swiftly sliding star,
I hear the watch-dog bark afar,
While, longing here, I wait—for you.
I hear the watch-dog bark afar,
While, longing here, I wait—for you.
Was that a step upon the grass?
No! 'twas the wind-stirred leaves—alas!
Dear love, I wait, I wait—for you.
No! 'twas the wind-stirred leaves—alas!
Dear love, I wait, I wait—for you.
Oh, haste! the night is going by,
The streets are still, and not an eye
Is watching, love, but mine,—for you!
The streets are still, and not an eye
Is watching, love, but mine,—for you!
| Poems by William W. Story | |