"SING me a song, my nightingale, Hid in among the twilight flowers; And make it low," he said, "I pray, And make it sweet." But she said, "Nay; Come when the morn begins to trail Her golden glories o'er the gray -- Morn is the time for love's all-hail!" He said, "The morning is not ours! "Then give me back, my heart's delight, Hid in among the twilight flowers, The kiss I gave you yesterday -- See how the moon this way has leant, As if to yield a soft consent. Surely," he said, "you will requite My love in this?" But she said, "Nay." "Yea, now," he said. But she said, "Hush! And come to me at morning-blush." He said, "The morning is not ours! "But say, at least, you love me, love. Hid in among the twilight flowers; No winds are listening, far or near -- The sleepy doves will never hear." "Ah, leave me in my sacred glen; And when the saffron morn shall close Her misty arms about the rose, Come, and my speech, my thought shall prove -- Not now," she said; "not now, but then." He said, "The morning is not ours!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK JACK AND JILL (1) by MOTHER GOOSE THE MAGPIES IN PICARDY by T. P. CAMERON WILSON |