A SLAVE OF FREEDOM
The Night slips his arm about the Moon
And walks till the skies grow gray;
But my Love, when I speak of love,
Has never a word to say.
I set my dreams at her feet as lamps
For which all my hope must pay;
But my Love, when I speak of love,
Has never a word to say.
I fill her hands with a gleaming soul
For her plaything night and day;
But she, when I speak to her of love,
Has never a word to say.
I give my life, which is hers to kill
Or to keep with her alway;
And still, when I speak to her of love,
She’s never a word to say.
The Night slips his arm about the Moon
And walks till the skies grow gray;
But my Love, when I speak of love,
Has never a word to say.