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THE EVENING STAR.
Now close the shutters and light the lamp; Recklessly toy with the merry guitar:The wind of the west is cool and damp, And—what care you for the evening star?
And yet—and yet, O lady fair, If yonder palace you think to win,With its windows blazing with gold, beware How you fancy there is a sun within!
Else, pierced by a life-long pain, I ween, Robbed of all love-light, cheated of joy,Even you, lady, will pine to lean On the noble, burning heart of a boy.
