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THIS winter night is odorous of spring.
Dreaming, my casement open wide I fling.
Upon a veil of silk the wind seems flying.
A dog barks, and the scented pines are sighing.
The silence is an urn that every noise
Falls into. O my heart yearns for the joys
Of those who in this tender night-hour fling
Their casements open to this whiff of spring,
And gaze up to the sky, and, drinking space,
Taste all infinity while they embrace.
Their drunken souls soar to the stars in flight:
"How beautiful," they breathe, "is life to-night!"
And the wind wafts caresses o'er their hair.


Sweet melancholy of a loving pair,
Wherein the virgin whom her lover strains
Yields like a lily overwhelmed with rains!
Such melancholy I remember well
And bitterly, and the firm vows that fell
From lips that sealed my own. With a slow wing
The gentle night was o'er us hovering.
My darling, you were sighing, tired I was.
And we were silent, love spoke long. Alas!