At the Trysting Place
THE LOVER SPEAKS
The gold of Evening into grayness fades;
And now the Twilight spreads her sheltering plumes
And shields me with her shades,
E'en as some brooding dove's
Are folded o'er her nestlings which she loves,
Far in the forest glooms.
The crescent dreams in branches of the fir,
And o'er the woodland path the stars arise
To light the way for her;
The wild grass rustles near;
And then a step,—and all my heaven is here,—
Love, with her longing eyes!
The gold of Evening into grayness fades;
And now the Twilight spreads her sheltering plumes
And shields me with her shades,
E'en as some brooding dove's
Are folded o'er her nestlings which she loves,
Far in the forest glooms.
The crescent dreams in branches of the fir,
And o'er the woodland path the stars arise
To light the way for her;
The wild grass rustles near;
And then a step,—and all my heaven is here,—
Love, with her longing eyes!
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