A LOVE SONG

Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait,

The crescent moon swings low,— it groweth late,—

A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!—

Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes;

Joy hath one summer time — like to the rose

Love only, lives through all the winter's snows.

So haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own:

But see!— A rose-leaf on the night-wind blown,—

For thee I wait — for thee I wait alone!—

So haste, my Sweet!