’Till I wakened—and lo! a lovely mouth,
Whose breath was sweet as winds of the south,
And an eye flashing soft with love and desire,
Which thrilled all my frame with quivering fire,
Peered out, as a cloud swept by;
And a soft voice whispered a thrilling tale,
And my eye grew dim and my red cheek pale.
Sybil.
Thy guest, fair maid, was Love! Nay, do not start,
And turn thy modest eyes upon the moon—