How sombre is the gloom!
I see no beam of star,
Gleam o’er the garden’s bloom,
Or silent wood afar;
So dark the thoughts which shroud
His soul who sings to thee;
Oh lady, cold and proud;
Who scorn’st to think on me;
Lady, lady, wake!
List oh! list.
The firefly lights the night,
A moment and then dies;
The lilacs pine for light,
With sweet and odorous sighs:
So Hope’s deceitful beam,
Illumines my despair,
While I still sigh and dream,
With many a sobbing prayer,
Lady, lady, list!
List and smile!
Lo! now the clouds break off,
And heaven once more is free;
The mounts their garments doff,
The mists rise from the sea;
From yonder casement high
She looks, she looks, oh see!
She bends on me her eye
Of heavenly brilliancy:
Lady, lady, dear;
Lady dear!
(James Avis Bartley)
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