Florentine May
Night, clear with the moon, filled with the dreamy fire
Shining in thicket and close,
Fire from the lamp in his breast that the luminous fire-
fly throws;
Night, full of wandering light and of song, and the
blossoming rose.
Night, be thou my desire!
Night, Angel of Night, hold me and cover me so—
Open thy wings!
Ah, bend above and embrace!—till I hear in the one
bird that sings
The throb of thy musical heart in the dusk, and the
magical things
Only the Night can know.
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