IT was the hour of dew and light;
In heaven a conflagration cold
Of roses burned, instead of clouds ;
There was a rain of pearls and gold.
Then deep within a flowering grove
I saw thee, love, reclined at ease,
And thou wast languishing and pale,
And sighing like a summer breeze,
Plucking a blossom’s leaves apart
With fingers fair as lilies are ;
Thine eyes, the temples of love’s fire,
Were fixed upon the heavens afar.
I marvelled that thy fingers soft,
Wherein the haughty rose was pressed,
Had power to pluck her leaves away
And scatter them upon thy breast.
A strange new heaven shone within
Thine eyes, so dark and languishing;
A heaven where, instead of stars,
Arrows of fire were glittering.
Ah, thou hast made of me a slave
To one bright glance, one word of thine !
The rays thy soul sheds, cruel maid,
Become as fetters laid on mine.
Oh, leave my heart, from me depart!
I for my queen desire not thee ;
Thy breast is like the rose’s leaf,
Thy heart as granite hard to me,
Thou knowest naught, thou fragrant one,
Save wounds in tender hearts to make,
Happy when thine adorer’s breast
Bleeds in profusion for thy sake.
When, lonely in a grove’s deep shade,
I weep, and all my sad heart grieves,
Lo, thou art there! Thou findest me,
Thou speakest to me through the leaves.
When in the swift and shining stream
I seek oblivion of thy face,
Thou findest me, and from the waves
Thou smilest up with witching grace.
When to the rocks and mountains steep
To break my heart and lyre I flee,
Thou murmurest ever in the wind
That thou hadst never love for me.
I will embrace the frozen earth,
And hide from thee in dreamless sleep.
The dark grave is a virgin too ;
Is any other heart so deep ?