OF A PARTING.
Under a calm of stars, my own,
Under a drooping crescent light,
You go, while fairy sounds are blown
Out of the dreams of winds, my own—
You go across the night;
But on some far-off strand of sunrise
Our hearts meet in a radiant bliss,
Not damp, like this!
Under a drooping crescent light,
You go, while fairy sounds are blown
Out of the dreams of winds, my own—
You go across the night;
But on some far-off strand of sunrise
Our hearts meet in a radiant bliss,
Not damp, like this!
You go; the calm of stars must go,
The crescent light, the fairy sounds;
Billows of cloud will overflow
The golden skies:—but you must go.
And in its stormy rounds
The dark will hear low, fluttering voices
Cry in my heart, like lonesome birds,
For your sweet words.
The crescent light, the fairy sounds;
Billows of cloud will overflow
The golden skies:—but you must go.
And in its stormy rounds
The dark will hear low, fluttering voices
Cry in my heart, like lonesome birds,
For your sweet words.
You go, and twilights made for love
Will gloom between us, dim with dew;
Will gloom between us, dim with dew;
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