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Evening Songs
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.
77
