92
THE NIGHT COMETH.
Working forever on this one white thing!
Why, of a truth, it should be fair to see
And sweet to sleep in. Love, you need not bring
Your lamp to me.
Why, of a truth, it should be fair to see
And sweet to sleep in. Love, you need not bring
Your lamp to me.
Look you,—the graveyard moon ariseth. So,—
That light is for the blind. Now let me be.
Listen!—the graveyard wind. There! I will go.
It calleth me.
That light is for the blind. Now let me be.
Listen!—the graveyard wind. There! I will go.
It calleth me.
