Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/On the Balcony

by John Collings Squire

ON THE BALCONY

Night, purpled night
From her starry crown
Sheds a doubtful glimmer
On the sleeping town;
I scarce can see your face
Soft and shadowy-white,
But I know your eyes
Look deep into the night.

Do you think, perchance,
Of one I never knew,
One I never heard of,
All in all to you;
Dead, maybe, or lost
’Mid the many years?. . . .
You are very still;
Are you shedding tears?

The night feels your tears,
The night returns your sigh
From where the spires and towers
Stand dim against the sky;
But my heart leaps swift,
Swift, and leaps again,
Ah! to soothe and quiet
Your poor soul in pain.

Ah! to soothe your soul!
It may never be,
For I cannot draw one veil
From your mystery,

For your brow is lineless
But your heart is old,
And the wind is rising
Fast, and growing cold,
And in the crowded rooms
Swells the merry din.
Clasp your cloak’s neck, come,
Let us go within.