JOSÈ ZORRILLA.
341
But in despite of that thick grate,
And shades that round us twine,
I have, my dove, to compensate,
My soul embathed in thine:
My lips of fire I hold impress'd
On thine of roses free;
And well I feel there 's in that breast
A heart that beats for me.
But see along the East arise
The unwelcome god of day,
Enveloped in the humid skies,
The darkness drive away.
And when a maid has watch'd the night,
With gallant by her side,
The bright red dawn has too much light
Its coming to abide!
The smiling morn is shedding round
Its harmony and hues,
And fragrant odours o'er the ground
The breezes soft diffuse:
Robbing the rose, the lily fair,
And cherish'd pinks they fly,
And leave upon the laurels there
A murmur moaning by.
