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WHEN THE FULL MOON'S LIGHT IS BURNING.
Sad rose, foolish rose,
If no other grew
In the wide world, I suppose
My own lover, too,
Would love—only you!
If no other grew
In the wide world, I suppose
My own lover, too,
Would love—only you!
WHEN THE FULL MOON'S LIGHT IS BURNING.
When the full moon's light is burning
At its brightest, it is pleasant,
Sometimes, blindly to sit yearning
For the slightness of the crescent;
At its brightest, it is pleasant,
Sometimes, blindly to sit yearning
For the slightness of the crescent;
When the finished rose is shining
In the sun with flushed completeness,
For the vanished bud repining,
Wilfully to miss its sweetness.
In the sun with flushed completeness,
For the vanished bud repining,
Wilfully to miss its sweetness.
