Читать книгу The Poems of Madison Cawein. Volume 2 (of 5) - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 31

Night, night, ’t is night. The moon drifts low above us,

And all its gold is tangled in the stream:

Love, love, my love, and all the stars, that love us,

The stars smile down and every star ’s a dream.

In odorous purple, where the falling warble

Of water cascades and the plunged foam glows,

A columned ruin lifts its sculptured marble

Friezed with the chiselled rebeck and the rose.

Sleep, sleep, sweet sleep sleeps at the drifting tiller,

And in our sail the Spirit of the Rain—

Love, love, my love, ah, bid thy heart be stiller,

And, hark! the music of the singing main.

What flowers are those that blow their balm unto us,

From mouths of wild aroma, each a flame?—

Or is it Love that breathes? sweet Love who drew us,

Who kissed our eyes and made us see the same?

Dreams; dreams we dream! no dream that we would banish!

The temple and the nightingale are there!

Our love hath made them, nevermore to vanish,

Real as yon moon, this wild-rose in your hair.

Night, night, ’tis night!—and Love’s own star ’s before us,

Its starred reflection in the starry stream.—

Yes, yes, ah yes! his presence shall watch o’er us,

To-night, to-night, and every night we dream.