"Hark! is he sleeping?—Let the soft lips meet. Who knows? the bright June morning may flame red, Yea scarlet round about this white dim bed Where all seems now so moon-caressed and sweet. Ah! sweetheart, how thy tender heart doth beat! Let me kiss every trembling pulse instead, And kiss thy limbs,—kiss upward to thine head; Thrice-rapturous are the night hours,—yet how fleet! "Is that the morning at the window-pane? Let the wild burning red lips cling once more! Ha! the swift sudden sword-flash at the door: Kiss me; I wait; do thou the garden gain"— She would not leave him. That dark evil stain Is where their hearts' blood fountained on the floor. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S GRANDEUR by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE SETTLER: AMERICA IN THE MAKING by ALFRED BILLINGS STREET IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 104 by ALFRED TENNYSON DOG AND CAT by RUTH ANDERSON BARNETT RHODE ISLAND by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES LETTER TO B.W. PROCTOR, ESQ., FROM OXFORD; MAY, 1825 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |