Night-Wind

Like some great pearl from out the Orient, Upheld by unseen hands,—in its rich weight An offering to adorn a queen’s proud state That offering to adorn a queen’s proud state That some dependent princeling did present,— The moon slow rises into night’s dark tent. The pulseless air, with longings vague befreight, Now quickens ’neath her gaze, now doth inflate The still-poised midnight clouds in heaven pent. With jealous haste he draws them o’er her face, And by his right forbids all other eyes To note her beauty and to praise her grace; Then up on lover’s wings to her he flies Impatient for the joy of her embrace; And to the earth are wafted down his sighs.

Collection: 
English
Beatrix Demarest Lloyd

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