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ON THE BALCONY
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ON THE BALCONY
Night, purpled night
From her starry crown
Sheds a doubtful glimmer
On the sleeping town;
I scarce can see your face
Soft and shadowy-white,
But I know your eyes
Look deep into the night.
Do you think, perchance,
Of one I never knew,
One I never heard of,
All in all to you;
Dead, maybe, or lost
’Mid the many years?. . . .
You are very still;
Are you shedding tears?
The night feels your tears,
The night returns your sigh
From where the spires and towers
Stand dim against the sky;
But my heart leaps swift,
Swift, and leaps again,
Ah! to soothe and quiet
Your poor soul in pain.
Ah! to soothe your soul!
It may never be,
For I cannot draw one veil
From your mystery,
