Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/217

Rh

The dew is not yet on their purple leaves, Warm with the sun's last kiss—sit here, dear love! This chesnut be our canopy. Look up Towards the beautiful heaven! the fair moon Is shining timidly, like a young queen Who fears to claim her full authority: The stars shine in her presence; o'er the sky A few light clouds are wandering, like the fears That even happy love must know; the air Is full of perfume and most musical, Although no other sounds are on the gale Than the soft falling of the mountain rill, Or waving of the leaves. 'Tis just the time For legend of romance, and, dearest, now I have one framed for thee: it is of love, Most perfect love, and of a faithful heart