LXVI
(Posthumous)
The moon sails slowly in the sky
So calmly and so freely;
The nightingale wails in the twigs
So sweetly and so really.
Thy image stands in front of me
So calmly and so freely;
The heart in longing wakes and calls
So sweetly and so really.
A swarm of songs is circling ’round
So calmly and so freely;
And into mine eye steals a tear
So sweetly and so really.
Now gentle sleep knocks at my door
So calmly and so freely—
And I recall Thee to my mind
So sweetly and so really.