I KNOW ’tis late, but let me stay,
For night is tenderer than day;
Sweet love, dear love, I cannot go,
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.
The birds in leafy hiding sleep;
Shrill katydids their vigil keep;
The woodbine breathes a fragrance rare
Upon the dewy languid air;
The fireflies twinkle in the vale,
The river looms in moonshine pale,
And look! a meteor’s dreamy light
Streams mystic down the solemn night!
Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire—
How soon our throbbing joys expire;
Who can be sure the present kiss
Is not his last? Make all of this.
I know ’tis late, sweet love, I know,
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.
Fantastic mist obscurely fills
The hollows of Kentucky hills;
Heardst thou? I heard or fear I heard
Vague twitters of some wakeful bird;
The wingÉd hours are swift indeed!
Why makes the jealous morn such speed?
This rose thou wearst may I not take
For passionate remembrance’ sake?
Press with thy lips its crimson heart;
Yes, blushing rose, we must depart;
A rose cannot return a kiss—
I pay its due with this, and this;
The stars grow faint, they soon will die,
But love faints not nor fails.—Good-bye!
Unhappy joy—delicious pain—
We part in love, we meet again!
Good-bye!—the morning dawns—I go,
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.