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9
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
What made you turn your face to me,
Then at that moment, when the hour
Was sick with longing, and the tree
Hung listless, waiting for the shower?
Then at that moment, when the hour
Was sick with longing, and the tree
Hung listless, waiting for the shower?
How often had I stood before
There, where I leaned beside your chair,
And faintly through the open door
Glimmered the weary climbing stair.
There, where I leaned beside your chair,
And faintly through the open door
Glimmered the weary climbing stair.
We talked of many trivial things,
I know not half the words we said,
Yet memory back upon me brings
The moment when you turned your head.
I know not half the words we said,
Yet memory back upon me brings
The moment when you turned your head.
The open book unheeded lay;
The lamp was lit: the hand hung free,
I wonder, could the angels say,
What made you turn your face to me?
The lamp was lit: the hand hung free,
I wonder, could the angels say,
What made you turn your face to me?
You, were you weary? I, I know
Was sick of shadows, and the breath
Of fears and fancies, and the slow
Slow beckonings of doom and death.
Was sick of shadows, and the breath
Of fears and fancies, and the slow
Slow beckonings of doom and death.
10
Ah, dear, I know not: quick, forget
The words I said—be calm and free,
Let me remember: yet, ah yet,
What made you turn your face to me?
The words I said—be calm and free,
Let me remember: yet, ah yet,
What made you turn your face to me?
Lambeth, 1888.
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