WHEN in our drifting boat The early lights salute you Bending to trail your arm Where yellow lilies rise, Lifting your full, white throat To free its morning music— Then do I dread the charm Of your deep and changeful eyes! When, at the night's young hour, The first fair planet rises Shaking her petals' gold Afar in the fields of air; When to that flaming flower, Lonely, the dim lake answers— Then how my heart grows bold, Wishing that you were there! |