Poetry Archives

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, love;
        How sweet to rove
        Through Morna’s grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!—the heavens look bright, my dear,
’Tis never too late for delight, my dear;
        And the best of all ways
        To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
        And I, whose star
        More glorious far
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!—till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage’s glass we’ll shun, my dear,
        Or in watching the flight
        Of bodies of light
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!