In The Meadow
In the moonlight meadow my darling singeth,
My love that is mine since yesterday;
To the cope of heaven her pure voice ringeth,
And my heart-beats echo her roundelay.
he moon dips lower; the stars peep over;
They seem to flutter their silver wings;
And down by her feet, 'mid the scented clover,
The crickets are quavering drowsy things.
The birds, half wakened, call each other,
They twitter faintly the boughs among:
“Down there in the meadow she waits her lover,
And sings her love in a happy song!”
The trees by the brookside bend to hear her;
The voice grows stronger, the clear tones rise;
Till the spotted moth-king pauses a-near her
To bask in the light of her sunny eyes.
I slip by the marshes, I steal through the clover,
Like the stealthy breeze of the fragrant South,
To greet her, my darling, and claim, like a lover,
The sweet of the song from her flowering mouth.
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