The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray.
Now stills the lark his festive lay,
And mourns with me the dying day.
While in the south the first faint star
Lifts to the night its silver face,
And twinkles to the moon afar
Across the heaven’s graying space,
Low murmurs reach me from the town,
As Day puts on her sombre crown,
And shakes her mantle darkly down.
Similar Posts
Across the hills and down the narrow ways,
The earth is folded in an ermined sleepThat mocks the melting mirth of myriad Mays.Departed her disheartening duns and grays,And all her crusty black is covered deep.Dark streams are locked in Winter’s donjon-keep,And made to shine with keen, unwonted rays.O icy mantle, and deceitful snow!What world-old liars in your hearts ye are!Are there not still…
_A Song_
Half in revenge and half in glee;Its petals not so pink by halfAs are her lips when curled to laugh,As are her cheeks when dimples gayIn merry mischief o’er them play._Chorus_Forgive, forgive, it seems unkindTo cast thy petals to the wind;But it is right, and lest I errSo scatter I all thought of her.Poor withered…
I sit upon the old sea wall,
Where soft and white the moonbeams fall,Till, in a fantasy,Some pure white maiden’s funeral pallThe strange light seems to me.The waters break upon the shoreAnd shiver at my feet,While I dream old dreams o’er and o’er,And dim old scenes repeat;Tho’ all have dreamed the same before,They still seem new and sweet.The waves still sing the…
ALONG by the river of ruin
They dance and they dreamBy the side of the stream,As long as the river runs.It seems all so pleasant and cheery —No thought of the morrow is theirs,And their faces are brightWith the sun of delight,And they dream of no night-brooding cares.The women wear garlanded tresses,The men have rings on their hands,And they sing in…
A LOVER whom duty called over the wave,
If left to herself? Had I better not sueSome friend to watch over her, good and grave?But my friend might fail in my need,’ he said,‘And I return to find love dead.Since friendships fade like the flow’rs of June,I will leave her in charge of the stable moon.’Then he said to the moon: ‘O dear…
TIM Murphy’s gon’ walkin’ wid Maggie O’Neill,
If I was her muther, I’d frown on sich foolin’,O chone!I’m sure its unmutherlike, darin’ an’ wrongTo let a gyrul hear ‘tell the sass an’ the songOf every young felly that happens along,O chone!An’ Murphy, the things that’s be’n sed of his doin’,O chone!‘Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin’,O chone!If…