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Apollo's winged bugleman Cannot contain, But peals his loud trumpet-call Once and again!
Then wake thee, my lady-love-- Bird of my bower!
The sweetest and sleepiest Bird at this hour!
George Darley [1795-1846]
SERENADE
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how I wake and pa.s.sionate watches keep; And yet, while I address thee now, Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep.
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep, That tender thought of love and thee, That while the world is hushed so deep, Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!
Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep!
With golden visions for thy dower, While I this midnight vigil keep, And bless thee in thy silent bower; To me 'tis sweeter than the power Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, That I alone, at this still hour, In patient love out.w.a.tch the world.
Thomas Hood [1799-1845]
SERENADE
Look out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the lights above, There hang more destinies.
Night's beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light: Then, lady, up,--look out, and be A sister to the night!
Sleep not!--thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast; Sleep not!--from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest.
Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay, With looks whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day.
Edward Coote Pinkney [1802-1828]
SERENADE
Hide, happy damask, from the stars, What sleep enfolds behind your veil, But open to the fairy cars On which the dreams of midnight sail; And let the zephyrs rise and fall About her in the curtained gloom, And then return to tell me all The silken secrets of the room.
Ah! dearest! may the elves that sway Thy fancies come from emerald plots, Where they have dozed and dreamed all day In hearts of blue forget-me-nots.
And one perhaps shall whisper thus: Awake! and light the darkness, Sweet!
While thou art reveling with us, He watches in the lonely street.
Henry Timrod [1829-1867]
SERENADE From "The Spanish Student"
Stars of the summer night!
Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, hide your golden light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!
Moon of the summer night!
Far down yon western steeps, Sink, sink in silver light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!
Wind of the summer night!
Where yonder woodbine creeps, Fold, fold thy pinions light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!
Dreams of the summer night!
Tell her, her lover keeps Watch! while in slumbers light She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]
"COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD"
From "Maud"
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, ba.s.soon; All night has the cas.e.m.e.nt jessamine stirred To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, "There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, "The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine."
And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clashed in the hall: And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all;
