Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/Romance, The Waking

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No sound is in the midnight air,
No colour in its shade,
The old are resting free from care,
Duenna's voice is stay'd;
But when all else in slumber meet,
We two are waking nigh,
She on the grated window's seat,
And at its foot am I.

I cannot see her beaming eyes,
Nor her clear brow above,
Nor her face with its rosy dyes,
Nor yet her smile of love:
I cannot see the virgin flush
That heightens her cheek's glow,
The enchantments of that maiden blush,
She is but fifteen now.

Nor can my searching eyes behold
Her form scarce wrapp'd about;
Nor from the flowing garment's fold
Her white foot peeping out;
As on some gentle river's spring,
To glide the foam between,
Spread forth her snowy floatsome wing,
The stately swan is seen.

Nor can I see her white neck shine,
Or shoulders as they part;
Nor from her face can I divine
Her restlessness of heart;
While like a guard, too watchful o'er,
The grated bars I find;
Audacious love is there before,
Poor virtue is behind.

But in despite of that thick grate,
And shades that round us twine,
I have, my dove, to compensate,
My soul embathed in thine:
My lips of fire I hold impress'd
On thine of roses free;
And well I feel there 's in that breast
A heart that beats for me.

But see along the East arise
The unwelcome god of day,
Enveloped in the humid skies,
The darkness drive away.
And when a maid has watch'd the night,
With gallant by her side,
The bright red dawn has too much light
Its coming to abide!

The smiling morn is shedding round
Its harmony and hues,
And fragrant odours o'er the ground
The breezes soft diffuse:
Robbing the rose, the lily fair,
And cherish'd pinks they fly,
And leave upon the laurels there
A murmur moaning by.

Murmurs the fountain's freshening spring,
Beneath its crystal veil,
And the angelic turtles sing
Their tender mournful tale;
The love-sick dove the morning light
Drinks with enraptured throat,
Mixing the balmy air so bright
With her unequal note.

Paces the while the noble youth
The garden's paths along,
And lowly sings, his soul to soothe,
His love-inspiring song;

"O! soundless midnight hour, again
Come with thy kindly shade,
When rest thy old from cares, and when
Duenna's voice is stay'd;
For then, while they in slumber meet,
We two are waking nigh,
She on the grated window's seat,
And at its foot am I."