  THE lily lifts her bridal whiteness up, And leans a list’ning to th’ impassioned rose, The dewdrop answer trembles in her cup, Shines on her silver lip and overflows. They lean and love for all the world to see, But thou, my love, thou leanest no more to me! Oh, mocking-bird, that bosomed in the height Of yon magnolia, warblest all alone Thy liquid litany of heart-delight, While the pure moon steps slowly tow’rd her throne. Lo! Thou hast lured all joy to soar with thee, And thou, my love, thou sing’st no more to me. Oh, one white star in all the blue abyss! Oh, trembling star that lookest on my pain! So shook my soul beneath his parting kiss, So waits my heart, alone and all in vain. Oh, Night, sweet Night, I bare my grief to thee— Oh, world, far off, give back my love to me! Margaret Houston. |
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