Poems (Sharpless)/The Tryst
For works with similar titles, see The Tryst.
THE TRYST
Oh! the night wind swept over desolate plains,
And whistled over the hill;
The rush of the water I heard in its breath,
As it dashed o'er the wheel of the mill.
And whistled over the hill;
The rush of the water I heard in its breath,
As it dashed o'er the wheel of the mill.
No stars came out in the stormy sky,
The moon had veiled her face,
Yet we two stood 'neath the old pine-tree—
Both at our trysting-place.
The moon had veiled her face,
Yet we two stood 'neath the old pine-tree—
Both at our trysting-place.
There in the night and cold we stood,
And gave our mutual vow:
"Faith unto death," we plighted, and oh!
'Tis bravely we're keeping it now.
And gave our mutual vow:
"Faith unto death," we plighted, and oh!
'Tis bravely we're keeping it now.
The wind sweeps over the desolate hill
And the stars shine coldly clear;
I am keeping my tryst at the old pine-tree,
And he, oh! he too is here.
And the stars shine coldly clear;
I am keeping my tryst at the old pine-tree,
And he, oh! he too is here.
For his kisses rain soft on my fevered head,
Cool like the evening dew,
And his voice sighs soft thro' the boughs above,
"Till death, and e'en after, still true."
Cool like the evening dew,
And his voice sighs soft thro' the boughs above,
"Till death, and e'en after, still true."
'Tis a weary and lonely march, this life!
Oh God! when will it be o'er,
When we at our trysting-place may meet,
Never to separate more?
Oh God! when will it be o'er,
When we at our trysting-place may meet,
Never to separate more?