Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/772

 WILLIAM SIDNEY WALKER

1795-1846

639.

Too solemn for day, too sweet for night, Come not in darkness, come not in light; But come in some twilight interim, When the gloom is soft, and the light is dim.

GEORGE DARLEY

1795-1846

640. Song

Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lull'd by the faint breezes sighing through her hair; Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers Breathed to my sad lute 'mid the lonely air.

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above: O that in tears, from my rocky prison streaming, I too could glide to the bower of my love!

Ah! where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her, Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate's call in the forests far away.

Come then, my bird! For the peace thou ever bearest, Still Heaven's messenger of comfort to me— Come—this fond bosom, O faithfullest and fairest, Bleeds with its death-wound, its wound of love for thee!