The blue waves are sleeping; The breezes are still; The light dews are weeping Soft tears on the hill; The moon in mild beauty, Looks bright from above; Then come to the casement, Oh MARY, my love. Not a sound, or a motion Is over the lake, But the whisper of ripples, As shoreward they break; My skiff wakes no ruffle The water among, Then listen, dear maid, To thy true lover's song. No form from the lattice Did ever recline Over Italy's waters, More lovely than thine; Then come to thy window And shed from above, One glance of thy dark eye, One smile of thy love. Oh! the soul of that eye When it breaks from its shroud, Shines beauteously out, Like the moon from a cloud; And thy whisper of love Breathed thus-from afar, Is sweeter to me Than the sweetest guitar. From the storms of this world How gladly I'd fly, To the calm of that breast. To the heaven of that eye! How deeply I love thee 'Twere useless to tell; Farewell, then, my dear one, My MAY, farewell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE by ADAM LINDSAY GORDON CHRISTMAS BELLS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE WHITE HOUSE by CLAUDE MCKAY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 52. WILLOWWOOD (4) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI FANCY, FR. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO AMERICA, ON HER FIRST SONS FALLEN IN THE GREAT WAR by E. M. WALKER |