Night

My voice, to which love lends a tenderness and yearing,

Disturbs night's dreamy calm ... Pale at my bedside burning,

A taper wastes away ... From out my heart there surge

Stift verses, streams of love, that hum and sing and merge.

And, full of you, rush on, with passion overflowing.

I seem to see your eyes that, in the darkness glowing,

Meet mine ... I see your smile ... You speak to me alone:

My friend, my dearest friend ... I'm your's ... your own.