The dim street-lamps go out; and without even glancing at thee,
A pale-faced troop go home, imagining they have been happy.
Angrily at his door is pounding the ill-tempered laborer,
Cursing the dawn that only calls him back to his bondage.
Only the lover, perhaps, fresh from the dreams of the loved one,
His blood still warm from her kisses, salutes with joy,
Beholds with delight thy face, and feels thy cool breathing upon him:
Then cries, "O bear me, Aurora, upon thy swift courser of flame;
"Bear me up into the fields of the stars, that there, looking down,
I may behold the earth beneath thy rosy light smiling;
"Behold my fair one, in the face of the rising day,
Let fall her black tresses down over her blushing bosom."
RUIT HORA
O green and silent solitudes, far from the rumors of men
Hither come to meet us true friends divine, O Lidia,
Wine and love.
O tell me why the sea, far under the flaming Hesperus
Sends such mysterious moanings; and what songs are these, O Lidia,
The pines are chanting.