A LOVE SONG

Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait, The crescent moon swings low,—it groweth late,— A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!—

Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes; Joy hath one summer time—like to the rose Love only, lives through all the winter's snows.

So haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own: But see!—A rose-leaf on the night-wind blown,— For thee I wait—for thee I wait alone!— So haste, my Sweet!