  The blue night falleth, the moon Is over the hill; make fast, Fasten the latch, I am tired: come soon, Come! I would sleep at last In your bosom, my love, my love! The airy chamber above Has the lattice ajar, that night May breathe upon you and me, my love, And the moon bless our marriage-rite— Come, lassy, to bed, to bed! The roof-thatch overhead Shall cover the stars' bright eyes; The fleecy quilt shall be coverlid For your meek virginities, And your wedding, my bride, my bride! See, we are side to side, Virgin in deed and name— Come, for love will not be denied, Tarry not, have no shame: Are we not man and bride? 1894. |
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