A lovely indistinctness flings
Its charm around the place,
As if the shadow of love's wings
Had left their fairy trace.
And ever and anon the wind
Flings back the fragrant shade,
That jessamine and myrtle twined
Have round the casement made.
When light and perfume comrades meet
Their flitting entrance win,
Fair—sweet—but still more fair and sweet
Whene'er they enter in.
For smiling in her silvery noon
Looks down night's conscious queen—
But silence—oh, thou trusted moon,
On all that thou hast seen.
To-night it matters not—to-night
Thou'lt only see alone,
A lady in whose eyes the light
Is lovely as thine own.
Is it not—dearest? thou canst tell
How very fair thou art:
That face—ah, thou must know it well,
Whose mirror is my heart.
What hours—what moonlit hours have pass'd
Thy fairy feet beside;
While the long lash its shadow cast
O'er eyes it could not hide.
When your cheek's native paleness wore
The rose's transient hue;
And thy red lip—but hush, no more,
I must not picture you!
Be still our love—a thing unknown,
It is a flower too rare
To be in common daylight shown,
To meet the sun and air.
I keep thee with all holier thought,
The dreaming and the deep;
That not from earth but heaven are brought,
O'er which we watch and weep.
My hopes, my music and my tears
Whatever in my line,
Soothes, softens—elevates, endears,
Are thine and only thine!
Take then my song, and claim thy part,
Where thou hast lent thy grace—
It caught its music from thy heart,
Its beauty from thy face.
L. E. L.
