Or better still, would play for me,—such strains!
The very thought of them would seem like sleep,
While half the night I linger’d still awake,
Half-conscious of the call of early birds
And sparkling spray of light dash’d o’er the dews.
XXXIX.
At last, one night, when no one else was by,
Some new impatience moved him; and he spoke:
“Pauline, my friend, allow me only once;—
And say not, now, say not we still can wait: