Poetry Archives

It is a fearful night; a feeble glare
  Streams from the sick moon in the o’erclouded sky;
  The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry,
Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare;
No bark the madness of the waves will dare;
  The sailors sleep; the winds are loud and high;
  Ah, peerless Laura! for whose love I die,
Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair?
  As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried,
I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright,
  A messenger of gladness, at my side:
To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light,
  And as we furrowed Tago’s heaving tide,
I never saw so beautiful a night.