poems.
73
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR.
In the lonely hour of midnight,
When the stars have sunk to rest,
And the lovely flowers are sleeping
Silent on their mother's breast,
When the lonely hour of midnight
Peals upon my startled ear,
Then the songs of the departed—
Heavenly songs—I often hear
When the stars have sunk to rest,
And the lovely flowers are sleeping
Silent on their mother's breast,
When the lonely hour of midnight
Peals upon my startled ear,
Then the songs of the departed—
Heavenly songs—I often hear
Enter at my window casement,
And the room is filled with light;
Flitting forms and dusky phantoms
Visit me in lone midnight;
Soft brown hair, and waving garments,
Kisses warm are on my cheek;
And I sit, and softly listen,
Till I almost hear them speak.
And the room is filled with light;
Flitting forms and dusky phantoms
Visit me in lone midnight;
Soft brown hair, and waving garments,
Kisses warm are on my cheek;
And I sit, and softly listen,
Till I almost hear them speak.
One there comes with heavenly lustre
Shining in her mild, dark eye,
Shining in her mild, dark eye,
