 | The Complete Works of C. S. Calverley |  |
SONNET
When o'er the world night spreads her mantle dun,
In dreams, my love, I see those stars thine eyes
Lighting the dark; but when the royal sun
Looks o'er the pines and fires the orient skies,
I bask no longer in thy beauty's ray,
And lo! my world is bankrupt of delight:
Murk night seemed lately fair-complexioned day:
Hope-bringing day seems now most doleful night.
End, weary day, that art no day to me!
Return, fair night, to me the best of days!
But oh, my rose, whom in my dreams I see,
Enkindle with like bliss my waking gaze!
Replete with thee, e'en hideous night grows fair,
Then what would sweet morn be, if thou wert there!
In dreams, my love, I see those stars thine eyes
Lighting the dark; but when the royal sun
Looks o'er the pines and fires the orient skies,
I bask no longer in thy beauty's ray,
And lo! my world is bankrupt of delight:
Murk night seemed lately fair-complexioned day:
Hope-bringing day seems now most doleful night.
End, weary day, that art no day to me!
Return, fair night, to me the best of days!
But oh, my rose, whom in my dreams I see,
Enkindle with like bliss my waking gaze!
Replete with thee, e'en hideous night grows fair,
Then what would sweet morn be, if thou wert there!
| The Complete Works of C. S. Calverley | |