I watch her in the corner there,
As, restless, bold, and unafraid,
She slips and floats along the air
Sunset on the mountains hoary,
Deepens into night;
Day hath lost its crown of glory,
Life hath lost its light.
Night comes creeping slowly o'er me,
Like a vapor cold and gray;
Dim the track that lies before me,
Lost the lingering smile of day.
IF I were a cloud in heaven,
I would hang over thee;
If I were a star of even,
I ’d rise and set for thee;
Singer of priceless melody,
Underguerdoned chorister of air,
Who from the lithe top of the tree
Pourest at will thy music rare,
As if a sudden brook laughed down the hill-side there.
The summer sun bedecks Anjou,
The harvest time keeps promise true,
And I have kept my faith with you
'Stretch out thy hand, insatiate Time!
Keeper of keys, restore to me
Some gift that in the gray Earth's prime
Her happy children held of thee;
There comes a time of rest to thee,
Whose laden boughs droop heavily
Toward earth, thou golden-fruited tree!
There's a bluebird sits on the apple-tree bough,
Singing merrily and gay.
Come, little blossoms, the Spring's here now,
And the sun shines warm all day.
With eager steps I go
Across the valleys low,
Where in deep brakes the writhing serpents hiss.
Above, below, around,
I hear the dreadful sound
Of thy calm breath, eternal Nemesis!