THIS is Love's silent hour, before the tongue Can find expression happy in a song; Yet your sweet, generous lips shall have their hour, Believe me, when my song comes back to power; So shall those eyes, so dark, so warm, and deep, That wake for me, and for all others sleep: Meanwhile I do no more than sit and sigh, Watching your movements with a greedy eye. Those birds that sing so sweet in their green bogs, Their season over, croak like common frogs: My thoughts, I hoped, would like those nightingales Sing sweet for you, but still my music fails; My music fails, and I can only kiss Your cheek and chin, and to myself say this -- There never was a thing so fair and bright, By sun or moon, by gas or candle-light. |