Song

The flower unfolds its dawning cup, And the young sun drinks the star-dews up, At eve it droops with the bliss of day, And dreams in the midnight far away.

So am I in thy sole, sweet glance Pressed with a weight of utterance; Lovingly all my leaves unfold, And gleam to the beams of thirsty gold.

At eve I droop, for then the swell Of feeling falters forth farewell; - At midnight I am dreaming deep, Of what has been, in blissful sleep.

When--ah! when will love's own fight Wed me alike thro' day and night, When will the stars with their linking charms Wake us in each other's arms?