At this hour, my simple lover, I prefer to rest Than to watch the tireless plover Rise from dewy nest; I prefer to rest.
Beauty such as mine, my lover, (This I know is right) Even thou wilt soon discover Is more meet for night (This I know is right).
In the daytime chirp the thrushes; But the nightingale Waits until the moonlit hushes To pour forth her tale; Wiser nightingale!
O! Gold I lack; I am a man Who cannot give as others can; No costly gems of value rare Are mine to give, my Lady Fair!
Yet would I give, and of my best, So delve the kingdom of mine eyes: What say'st thou to a rope of pearls Strung from the cirro-clouded skies?
A sunlit beck, just after rain, Should from its ripples lend a chain Of sparkling diamonds, very meet To grace thy wrist, my Lady Sweet.
A peaty tarn, lost 'mong the hills, Of beryl tint should make a ring; The moors should yield a coronet Of amethyst, from summer ling. * * * * * _Rubies?_ Already thou hast two! They are the gems for which I sue.
There are many, many forests lying north, south, east, and west, There are many, many rivers moving slowly to the sea, But there's a wood of budding beech that claims the heart of me, And there's a little singing beck that falls from heathered crest.
O! I would give the universe to own that singing stream, And watch the stars a-hiding from the rosy-fingered morn, While cuckoos wake the fellside, and daffodils are born-- O! any one can have the world, so I may keep my stream--
Yet would I barter beechen wood and little singing beck If I could fold my arms once more around my sweetheart's neck.
The ship is speeding fast from out the bay, Instead of thine, I feel a kiss of spray; My face is lashed by salt winds from the sea, My eyes are wet with parting now from thee. O Husband Sweetheart! send to me a thought-- Some loving word, perchance my lips have taught!
The evening fades to purple, darkly blue, The air is chill, a few white stars creep through The steely buckler of the northern sky; One lonely sound recurs--a sew-mew's cry. O Husband Sweetheart! send thy heart to me Across this tireless, surging, tossing sea!
To-night we're severed, many miles apart: I wonder, canst thou rest, my Dearest Heart? In Court of Dreams perhaps we'll briefly meet And kiss upon the Borderland of Sleep. O Husband Sweetheart! say for me a prayer-- God give you peace, and have you in His care!