THE moon in silent brightness Rides o'er the mountain brow, The mist in fleecy whiteness Has clad the vale below; Above the woodbine bow'r Dark waves our trysting-tree; It is, it is the hour, Oh come, my love, to me! The dews of night have wet me While wand'ring lonelily; Thy father's bands beset me -- I only fear'd for thee. I crept beneath thy tower, I climb'd the ivy tree; And blessed be the hour That brings my love to me. I left my chosen numbers In yonder copse below; Each warrior lightly slumbers, His hand upon his bow: From forth a tyrant's power They wait to set thee free; It is, it is the hour, -- Oh come, my love, to me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS FOR [OR TO] THOSE WHO FAIL by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER SONNET: 18. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT by JOHN MILTON MAY MORNING by CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER SHIRK OR WORK? by GRACE BORDELON AGATE CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 2. OF GRATITUDE by WILLIAM BASSE FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: COUNTENANCE FOREBODING EVIL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |