 | Spindrift |  |
168
UNDER A LATTICE.
Sleep'st thou, my love?—The blushing moon
Steals to her Latmian cave,
The balmy midnight wind of June
Sleeps on the sleeping wave;
Around, the shadowy woodlands sleep,
Sleeps every garden flower;—
I only wake—my tryste to keep
Beside thy linden bower.
Sleep'st thou, my love?
Steals to her Latmian cave,
The balmy midnight wind of June
Sleeps on the sleeping wave;
Around, the shadowy woodlands sleep,
Sleeps every garden flower;—
I only wake—my tryste to keep
Beside thy linden bower.
Sleep'st thou, my love?
Awake, dear heart! too soon the dawn
Will rouse the jealous day;
And ere the starry veil be drawn
I shall be leagues away!
For night alone is ours.—Alas!
The once warm love grows cold,
Or thus the moments should not pass,
Nor thou those lips withhold:
Awake, dear heart!
Will rouse the jealous day;
And ere the starry veil be drawn
I shall be leagues away!
For night alone is ours.—Alas!
The once warm love grows cold,
169
Nor thou those lips withhold:
Awake, dear heart!
Yet sleep, dear, sleep!—and as I breathe
Towards thy veilèd shrine
Music for incense—to enwreath
Thy soul with thoughts divine—
My image on the charmèd stream
Of song may thither soar,
And, mingling with thy maiden dream,
Be exiled thence no more:—
Then sleep, dear, sleep!
Towards thy veilèd shrine
Music for incense—to enwreath
Thy soul with thoughts divine—
My image on the charmèd stream
Of song may thither soar,
And, mingling with thy maiden dream,
Be exiled thence no more:—
Then sleep, dear, sleep!
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