The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 40, Page 293
IX.
Leave me not yet!
Leave me not yet!—thro' rosy skies from far,
But now the song-birds to their nests return;
The trembling image of the first pale star
On the dim lake but now begins to burn:
—Leave me not yet!
Not yet!—low voices borne from hidden streams,
Heard through the shivery woods, but now arise;
Their sweet sounds mingle not with daylight dreams,
They are of vesper's hymns and harmonies:
—Leave me not yet!
My thoughts are like those gentle tones, dear love!
By day shut up in their own still recess,
They wait for dews on earth, for stars above,
Then to breathe out their voice of tenderness:
—Leave me not yet!
