Poems (Botta)/To - (7)
For works with similar titles, see To — (Botta).
TO .
The brilliant west is glowing, With sunset’s farewell ray;The silver waves are flowing, On to the distant sea;
The pale bright stars are keeping Their watch through night’s still hours;The dews in joy are weeping Above the new-born flowers;
The city’s hum is dying Upon the perfumed breeze,That wanders, softly sighing, Among the flower-crowned trees.
But my vagrant thoughts are roaming To loved ones far away;I heed not twilight’s coming, Nor flowers, nor winds at play.
Of a low, sweet voice I’m dreaming, More soft than the southwinds are,Of a gentle eye that is beaming, More bright than the Evening Star;
And I read as many pages In the depths of that hazel eye,As were read by the Chaldean sages, In the glittering stars on high;
And the dreams that float under the cover Of those snowy lids of thine,The thoughts in that young heart that hover, I have magic power to divine.