OLD SONG

My window is darkness,

The sighs of the night die in silence;

The lamp on my table

Burns gravely, the walls are withdrawn;

And beneath, in your darkness,

You are sleeping and dreaming forgetful,

But I think of you smiling,

For I'm wakeful and now it is only an hour to the dawn.

When the first throb of light comes

I shall rise and go out to the garden,

And walk the lawn's verdure

Before the wet gossamer goes;

And when you come down, sweet,

All singing and light in the morning,

Delight will break ambush

With your garden's most fragrant and softest and reddest red rose.