Nocturne

The silent world is sleeping,And spirits hover nigh,With downward pinions keepingOur love from mortal eye,Nor any ear of Earth can hearThe heart-beat and the sigh.

Now no more the twilight birdShowers his triple notes around;In the dewy paths is heardNo rude footfall's sound.In the stillness I awaitThy coming late,In the dusk would lay my heartClose to thine own, and say how dear thou art!

O life! O rarest hour!When the dark world onward rolls,And the fiery planets drift,Then from our commingled soulsClouds of passion and of power,Flames of incense, lift!

Come, for the world is turningTo meet the morning star!Answer my spirit's yearningAnd seek the arms that call thee from afar:Let them close—ah, let them closeAround thee now, and lure thee to repose.

1878