Sweet as the lutes of love, from fields of sleep Come murmurs of the rain; and reveries Haunt the green ways their tryst with eve to keep.
Slumberous music, fragile melodies, Move in the chiming leaves, like that loved pain, Which fills the heart with restless memories.
Chime of the leaves and murmur of the rain In mine own soul there are, and voices sweet, Which help me the lost moments to regain.
The hours dance round me on their slender feet With joys that pierce my heart, as keen as spears Remembered sorrows, pleasures that were fleet
To vanish, or dissolve in dew of tears: Seeing them thus, I cannot choose but weep. Surely in this wise God shall reap the years.
Sweet with the fruits of love, from fields of sleep.
L'AUBE
Yea, it is dawn, alas! Gray is the earth, and cold; Swift was our night to pass.
Thy hair is like fine gold, Over the pillows spread And on the sheet's white fold