|
A palm | Sing on
Warm pressed, | O our bird!
As we guessed | Thou art heard
Love's psalm. | Alone.
|
A word | We know
Breathed close, | No life,
And then rose | Neither strife,
The bird | Nor woe,
|
That cowers | Nor aught
In the wood | But this hour,--
'Mid a flood | Love's dower
Of flowers, | Dear bought.--
|
Till Love's | Death's voice
Heart sighs, | Is away,
Like the cries | And we may
Of doves,-- | Rejoice.
|
Then sings | The bird
His song, | Of our song
Beating strong | May be long
White wings,-- | Unheard,
|
Heart clear | But, Dear,
Though faint, | Bend low;
Like a saint | It is now
In prayer.-- | We hear.
|
He reigns | Dear Heart
In power, | Your kiss!--
And Love's hour | After this
Disdains. | We part.
|
Forget | A breath
For a day | And a sigh,--
All his sway, | How we fly
Life's fret. | From Death!

NOON.

No ripple stirs the water,
No song-bird wakes the grove,
Calm noon-tide sways his sceptre,
And hushes even love.

On earth the sun-god bending
Poureth his wondrous store;
The soft-tongued tide, advancing,
Laps the unconscious shore.

The long, low isle of marsh-land
Stretches in weary waste,
By sloping sand-banks guarded,
By winding weeds embraced.

Comes clearly from the open
The plash of distant oars,--
Over the rocky headland
The snow-white sea-gull soars.

I see as if through dream-clouds,
I hear from far away.
The scorched air breathes its opiate,
The drowsy fancies stay;

I have no hopes or longings,
I scarce can feel your kiss,--
For thought