Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/121



Hush—drink no more! for now the trees, In yonder grand old wood, Burst forth in sinless melodies To cheer my solitude; Trees sing thus every night to me, So mournfully and slow— They think, dear hearts, 'twere well for me, Could large tears once forth flow From this hard frozen eye of mine, As freely as they stream from thine.

Ay, ay, they sing right passing well, And pleasantly in tune, To midnight winds a canticle That floats up to the moon; And she goes wandering near and far Through yonder vaulted skies, No nook whereof but hath a star Shed for me from her eyes;— She knows I cannot weep, but she Weeps worlds of light for love of me!

Yes, in her bower of clouds she weeps Night after night for me—