  I KNOW not if moonlight or starlight Be soft on the land or the sea,— I catch but the near light, the far light, Of eyes that are burning for me; The scent of the night, of the roses, May burden the air for thee, sweet,— ’Tis only the breath of thy sighing I know, as I lie at thy feet. The winds may be sobbing or singing, Their touch may be fervent or cold, The night-bells may toll or be ringing,— I care not, while thee I enfold! The feast may go on, and the music Be scattered in ecstasy round,— Thy whisper, “I love thee! I love thee!” Hath flooded my soul with its sound. I think not of time that is flying, How short is the hour I have won, How near is this living to dying, How the shadow still follows the sun; There is naught upon earth, no desire, Worth a thought, though ’twere had by a sign! I love thee! I love thee! bring nigher Thy spirit, thy kisses to mine. |
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