And my hand, so worn and white,
On thy clustering hair is lying.
Love, my only love, good-night!
Ah! I hear thy broken sobbing.
Faint and low, thy voice hath grown;
And I feel thy fond heart throbbing,
Oh, how wildly, ’gainst mine own!
Dear, my spirit still delaying,
Loves to hover near thee now,
Like the moonbeams fondly straying