THE SONG OF LORENZO

Over thy balcony leaning,

Thy languorous glance floats below

Whence arise thousand odours a-streaming,

Thine incense, O goddess of woe!

A star from the infinite whirling,

Taking flight through the dimness of night,

In an ark through the ether is curling;

And touches thy hair with its light.

O lady of sadness and sorrow,

Mine anguish, my hope, my despair,

Will the bright-dawning day of to-morrow

Find thee still in that balcony there?

Near thy casement, an ancient vine groweth,

A ladder that leads thee below;

Were it not for that vine, ah, who knoweth

Thou wert not an angel of woe?

Come down from thy cloud-bosomed chamber;

Not yet has the moon lit the sky;

On the vine-trellis, carefully, clamber —

( Is it thou or the wind that doth sigh? )

Among the copse hedges then darting

Like a ghost at the dawn of the day;

Then, far in the distance departing,

In triumph, I'll bear thee away.