  When morning shows her first faint flush, I think of the tender blush That crept so gently to your cheek When first my love I dared to speak; How, in your glance, a dawning ray Gave promise of love's perfect day. When, in the ardent breath of noon, The roses with passion swoon; There steals upon me from the air The scent that lurked within your hair; I touch your hand, I clasp your form— Again your lips are close and warm. When comes the night with beauteous skies, I think of your tear-dimmed eyes, Their mute entreaty that I stay, Although your lips sent me away; And then falls memory's bitter blight, And dark—so dark becomes the night. |
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