Poetry Archives

Beneath her window in the fragrant night
 I half forget how truant years have flown
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
 Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves
 Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
 Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
 When all is still, as if the very trees
Were listening for the coming of her feet
 That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze
Sings some forgotten song of those old years
Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.