A Nocturne of Trysting
Broods the hid glory in its sheath of gloomTill strikes the destined hour, and bursts the bloom,A rapture of white passion and perfume.So the long day is like a budThat aches with coming bliss,Till flowers in light the wondrous nightThat brings me to thy kiss.Then, with a thousand sorrows forgotten in one hour,In thy pure eyes and at thy feet I find at last my goal;And life and hope and joy seem but a faint previsionOf the flower that is thy body and the flame that is thy soul.
Broods the hid glory in its sheath of gloomTill strikes the destined hour, and bursts the bloom,A rapture of white passion and perfume.So the long day is like a budThat aches with coming bliss,Till flowers in light the wondrous nightThat brings me to thy kiss.Then, with a thousand sorrows forgotten in one hour,In thy pure eyes and at thy feet I find at last my goal;And life and hope and joy seem but a faint previsionOf the flower that is thy body and the flame that is thy soul.
Broods the hid glory in its sheath of gloomTill strikes the destined hour, and bursts the bloom,A rapture of white passion and perfume.
Broods the hid glory in its sheath of gloom
Till strikes the destined hour, and bursts the bloom,
A rapture of white passion and perfume.
So the long day is like a budThat aches with coming bliss,Till flowers in light the wondrous nightThat brings me to thy kiss.
So the long day is like a bud
That aches with coming bliss,
Till flowers in light the wondrous night
That brings me to thy kiss.
Then, with a thousand sorrows forgotten in one hour,In thy pure eyes and at thy feet I find at last my goal;And life and hope and joy seem but a faint previsionOf the flower that is thy body and the flame that is thy soul.
Then, with a thousand sorrows forgotten in one hour,
In thy pure eyes and at thy feet I find at last my goal;
And life and hope and joy seem but a faint prevision
Of the flower that is thy body and the flame that is thy soul.