It strangles the last sound,
It devours the last light,
Trembles in fear
To see its own visage;
It moves on, on, and around,
Ceaselessly, untiringly,
Till the black night is drowned
In an abyss of brown.
23
In love's afterglow, full of stars,
Those lilies of the river of night,
Sing no song, dear, speak no word.
The white noontide has ebbed into gold;
Shores-breaking seas cease to roar;
Lo! the moonrise of our soul.
Hardly a kiss, or the shadow of a caress;
No decking the hour with the jasmines of touch;
But a rose-petal shivering in exquisite agony—our love.
The weary sunset has grown wearier;
A vague lassitude encircles us twain,
As separation builds its pathway of tears.
Cease weeping, yet the saffron light lingers;
The stars throb in nebulous lustre,
As our hearts to the music of desire.