In the West the distant lightning
Fitfully doth come and go,
Like the radiant wings of fireflies
Flashing to and fro.
Every where the mellow moonlight
Lieth mystical and fair,
And the cool winds of the ocean
Fan the heated air.
To our casement, from the garden,
Where the flowers with dew are wet,
Floats the breath that parts the fragrant
Lips of mignonnette.
Nothing breaks the dreamy stillness,
On the earth, in heaven above,
Save the sound of far-off voices
Singing songs of love.
How my heart thrills as I listen!
What dear visions fill my brain,
As the old tunes, half forgotten,
Come to me again!
They are songs we sang together
Underneath the whispering trees;
Ah, our holy passion blossomed
On such nights as these.
They are melodies we chanted
Years ago, in midnight hours,
When belovéd voices mingled
Trustingly with ours.
* * * *
You are sad and silent, Marion;
Tears are in your tender eyes;
Are you thinking of a maiden
Now in Paradise?
Does she stand once more before you,
While her sweet voice haunts the air,
Just the same as when she left us,
Fairest of the fair?
Do not weep--the loving Father,
When he took her gentle hand,
Led her to the fair, green pastures
Of the better land.
She may be the Queen of Angels,
In the bright spheres where they dwell,
In her music tones surpassing
Sweet-voiced Israfel.
Do not weep, but sit beside me;
Listen to the soothing chimes,
As they seem to peal from turrets
Of the olden times.
