Mary
1
It is the evening hour,
How silent all doth lie,
The horned moon she shews her face,
In the river, with the sky;
Just by the path on which we pass,
The flaggy lake, lies still, as glass.
2
Spirit of her I love,
Wispering to me:
Stories of sweet visions, as I rove:
Here stop and crop with me,
Sweet flowers, that in the still hour grew,
We'll take them home, nor shake off the bright dew.
3
Mary, or sweet spirit of thee,
As the bright sun shines tomorrow;
Thy dark eyes these flowers shall see,
Gathered by me in sorrow,
In the still hour, when my mind was free,
To walk alone — yet wish I walk'd with thee.
It is the evening hour,
How silent all doth lie,
The horned moon she shews her face,
In the river, with the sky;
Just by the path on which we pass,
The flaggy lake, lies still, as glass.
2
Spirit of her I love,
Wispering to me:
Stories of sweet visions, as I rove:
Here stop and crop with me,
Sweet flowers, that in the still hour grew,
We'll take them home, nor shake off the bright dew.
3
Mary, or sweet spirit of thee,
As the bright sun shines tomorrow;
Thy dark eyes these flowers shall see,
Gathered by me in sorrow,
In the still hour, when my mind was free,
To walk alone — yet wish I walk'd with thee.
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