LXVII (Posthumous)

My sweetheart, look at those two clouds Above that mountain yonder— The moon sheds her light on their way, And in close touch they wander. The maiden choir of quiet stars Is twinkling to them greeting, And gentle zephyrs in their breath Bring odors to them, fleeting. Lo! from the shrubs the nightingale Flew up with her narration— Hark how she sends her song to them As song’s true incarnation! My love, look from Thy window there How those clouds float together— I asked them to bid Thee “good night,” Sweet dreams ’round Thee to gather.