XXVII.
The years are coming and going,
Whole races are home to their rest;
But never ceases the passion
That burns within my breast.
Only once more I would see thee,
And make thee a low salaam,
And with my dying breath, murmur:
"I love you still, Madame!"
XXVIII.
I dreamed that the moon looked sadly down,
And the stars with a troubled ray;
I went to my sweetheart's home—the town
Lies many a league away.
My longing led me before her door;
I kissed the stone steps brown,
That her feet had touched in the days of yore,
And the trailing hem of her gown.
The night was long, the night was cold,
Ice-cold did the stone steps seem.
In the window her own wan face, behold!
Illumed by the moon's pale beam.
XXIX.
What means this lonely tear-drop
That blurs my troubled sight,
From olden times returning
Back to mine eyes to-night?