Thou lookest for a gleeful face, thine opening eyes to greet,
While coldness gathers on thy breast, the shadow round thy feet—
Beautiful, O woman, the green earth and the flowers may be,
But sweeter in that hour the voice of thy First-born Child to thee!
THE ATHENIAN LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS.
The spirit of mine eyes is faint
With gazing on thy light;
I close my eyelids, but within,
Sweet, thou art shining bright,