There's light in the west, o'er the rims of the walnut, Low croons the stream, in the meadows below, Shrill sings the robin, a-top of the briar, Black, through the golden dusk, darkens the crow. O love, from the hamlet, that gleams in the sallows, Come up through the pastures—come upwards and smile, That your dear face may shine twenty roods through the twilight, And sprinkle with starbeams the stones of the stile. Come hither, come hither, 'Tis midsummer weather; Airy-paced, violet-eyed, dainty-lipped lisper, For into your pink ear, sweetheart, if you let me, If but for a moment, I'd hurriedly whisper. O daisies that glitter in long tangled grasses, White wastes of delight that stream fair to the moon, Unprison your lids, though the dank dew is falling, And catch the sweet footsteps that hasten here soon. There's a candle a-gleam in the grey cottage lattice, There's a shadow that comes 'twixt the light and the pane, And a dear little head slily peers through the casement, Turns backward, and leaves me the shadow again. Come hither, come hither, 'Tis midsummer weather; The windmill has stopped, dear, ah! that is our token, For ere the night falls through yon great arch of planets, One quick little word in your ear must be spoken. There's an echo that comes from the dusk of the pad-dock— The echoes of feet that are tripping and walking, There's a murmur that creeps through the heart of the pasture, O love, is it you, or the daisies, are talking? 'Tis she, for the wild mint, scarce crushed by her footsteps, Gives out all its odor—that's all it can give her— And the stile that I've sat by since six in the evening, Turns round, ay it does, of itself to receive her. Come hither, come hither, 'Tis midsummer weather; Now answer me this, by the round moon above me, Do you?—well, after all, what's the use of being talking? Sure you wouldn't come hither if you didn't love me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE IS NOTHING STRANGE by ARCHILOCHUS A LEGEND OF MINNESOTA by LILLIAN ATCHERSON NURSERY REMINISCENCES by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM HOW DO I KNOW? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON (SECOND VERSION) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE T IS FOR TIME by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |