 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
A TWILIGHT SONG
Listen, Love to me
While night's dew is falling—
Softly from yon tree,
Thine own bird is calling—
Yes, hear him trill,
No song of ill,
'Tis love, love, alone;
Then listen, Love to me,
Under this oaken tree,
Ere yet his notes are gone.
While night's dew is falling—
Softly from yon tree,
Thine own bird is calling—
Yes, hear him trill,
No song of ill,
'Tis love, love, alone;
Then listen, Love to me,
Under this oaken tree,
Ere yet his notes are gone.
The pearl's purest beam
Is when the moonlight gleam,
Shines on the gem;
And thy glowing eyes
Where bright pleasure lies
Will rival them;
Then turn on me thy glance,
And whisper words of bliss;
Make brighter visions dance,
Make mine, true happiness.
Is when the moonlight gleam,
Shines on the gem;
And thy glowing eyes
Where bright pleasure lies
Will rival them;
Then turn on me thy glance,
And whisper words of bliss;
Make brighter visions dance,
Make mine, true happiness.
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Spirits now are seen,
Twining greenest wreaths;
Hark! from yonder glen,
Music's love note breathes.
Speak! lovely one, and wake
Hopes that cannot die;
Speak! beauteous one, and take,
A full heart's ecstasy.
Twining greenest wreaths;
Hark! from yonder glen,
Music's love note breathes.
Speak! lovely one, and wake
Hopes that cannot die;
Speak! beauteous one, and take,
A full heart's ecstasy.
Boston Statesman, May 22, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |