BENEATH THE MOON

Give me thy hand, Beloved! Here where still

The night wind hovers‘ neath the pallid moon

Give me this fleeting moment; all too soon

The listless day will break upon the hill;

This last sweet night is mine. The tremulous thrill

Upon thy lips is all the precious boon

I begged of Heaven, the garish sun of noon

Is theirs — the rest — mine is this moment's will.

Our love could never be the love of day.

I have not claimed the welcome of thy lips;

No touch save fluttering hand, and for the pay

I gave my minstrelsy of sea and sky.

Once more thine eyes! Now sun-stained finger tips,

Send through the hush of dawn a glad good-bye.