10.08.2014, 13:28
AT SHUT OF DAY
NOT now, not now, not of this veiled sun
Nor tenuous shade, our tremulous love was born,
But when the sheer night feathered toward the morn,
And the faint stars, like tapers, one by one,
Died in the dawn, and the chill night was done.
'Twas when the light wind o'er the breathing corn
Winnowed his vans, and from each gossamered thorn
Billowed the dew-pearled gonfalons day had won.
Then had our love its birth — a fluttering thing,
That scarce, knew if the fire-fledged morn had come.
Or if to swell its moon-white throat and sing,
Or bid, 'mid twilight leaves, its voice be dumb.
But now day wanes — Dear, doth desire take wing?
Doth the grasshopper e'en grow burdensome?
NOT now, not now, not of this veiled sun
Nor tenuous shade, our tremulous love was born,
But when the sheer night feathered toward the morn,
And the faint stars, like tapers, one by one,
Died in the dawn, and the chill night was done.
'Twas when the light wind o'er the breathing corn
Winnowed his vans, and from each gossamered thorn
Billowed the dew-pearled gonfalons day had won.
Then had our love its birth — a fluttering thing,
That scarce, knew if the fire-fledged morn had come.
Or if to swell its moon-white throat and sing,
Or bid, 'mid twilight leaves, its voice be dumb.
But now day wanes — Dear, doth desire take wing?
Doth the grasshopper e'en grow burdensome?