 | Poems |  |
112
CHE DI VOS E DI ME DIRAN?
What will they say of me, my love,
What will they say of you?
When they see thine eyes' bright loving glance,
And mine replying too?
What will they say of you?
When they see thine eyes' bright loving glance,
And mine replying too?
Fear not, my love—they'll say of me,
That vainly earthly suns may rise
When sunshine beams so radiantly
From the blue heaven of those eyes:
They'll say of thee, that thou wert sent
Here on this darkling earth to roam,
To win, by beauty's blandishment
Weak mortals to thine angel home.
That vainly earthly suns may rise
When sunshine beams so radiantly
From the blue heaven of those eyes:
They'll say of thee, that thou wert sent
Here on this darkling earth to roam,
To win, by beauty's blandishment
Weak mortals to thine angel home.
But what, love, will they say of you,
What will they say of me,
When in my evening bower they find
None save my heart and thee?
What will they say of me,
When in my evening bower they find
None save my heart and thee?
113
Fear not, my love, what tongues may dare—
Of me the world can only say
That while such twilight waits me there,
I need not wish for brighter day.
Of thee they'll say, the silver chords
With which thy fairy harp is strung,
Were breathed on by a spirit's words;
And keep the notes that spirit sung.
Of me the world can only say
That while such twilight waits me there,
I need not wish for brighter day.
Of thee they'll say, the silver chords
With which thy fairy harp is strung,
Were breathed on by a spirit's words;
And keep the notes that spirit sung.
But oh! what will they say of you—
What can they say of me,
Should I at length become your bride,
As I have vowed to be?
What can they say of me,
Should I at length become your bride,
As I have vowed to be?
Fear not, my love: they'll say that I
Can never more have wish or prayer;
That having thee, until I die
No thought is left that claims a care;
Of thee they'll say—to speed the tale
In vain was speech to mortals given;
For what may tongues and words avail
When hearts and looks are all our heaven!
Can never more have wish or prayer;
That having thee, until I die
No thought is left that claims a care;
Of thee they'll say—to speed the tale
In vain was speech to mortals given;
For what may tongues and words avail
When hearts and looks are all our heaven!
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