  THY shadow, O tardy night, Creeps onward by valley and hill, And scarce to my streaming sight Show the white road-reaches still. O night, stay now a little, little space, And let me see the light of my beloved’s face! My love is late, O night, And what has kept him away? For I know that he takes not delight In the garish joys of day. Haste, night, dear night, that bring’st my love to me! What if his footsteps halt and tarry but for thee! Nay, what if his footsteps slide By the swaying bridge of pine, And whirled seaward by the tide Is the loved form I counted mine! O night, dear night, that comest yet dost not come, How shall I wait the hour that brings my darling home? |
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