WITHIN my circled arm she lay and faintly smiled the long night through,
And oh, but she was fair to view, fair to view!

Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil
And on her cheek of carved pearl that gleamed so pale.

(How still the air is in the night, how near and kind the heavens are,
One might a naked hand outstretch and grasp a star!)

I kissed her heavy, folded hair. I kissed her heavy lids full oft;
Beneath the shining of the stars her eyes shone soft.

'Love, Love!' I said, 'the day was long'--'Oh, long indeed,' she sighing said.
'I grow so jealous of the sun, since I am dead.'

(How sweet the air is in the night, how sweet, sweet, sweet the flowers seem--
But oh, the emptiness of dawn that breaks the dream!)