@3Tenderly@1 I am writing; the lamp listens, The clock, tick tick, attends me too; I shall close, for my eye glistens, And sleep merged with you. I have a fever; the lamp is low; I hear your voice come calling slow; Your name comes laughing to my lips; I feel your caress in my finger-tips. I feel the old-time gentle glow; Your poor heart throbs me through Half-dreaming, I no longer know Whether it's I who write, or you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET; OXFORD, 1916 by GEORGE SANTAYANA A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING by JOHN DONNE GOBLIN MARKET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 54. LOVE'S FATALITY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |