Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/278

264 How long hath been the night! but morn breathes hope. &quot; I fain were true to you and to myself&quot;— Did she say thus ? or is my fevered brain The fool of its desires ? The whole world swam ; The blood rang beating in mine ears and roared Like rushing waters; yet, as through a dream, I saw her dimly. Surely on her lids Shone the clear tears. As there s a God in heaven, She spake those words! My lips retain the touch Of those soft, snow-cold hands, neither refused Nor proffered. Such things are, nor can they be Forgotten or foreknown. Yes, she is mine. But soft ! Her casement opes. Oh, joy, ’t is she! Pale, in a cloud of white she stands and drinks The morning sunlight.

Ah, how sweet this air Kisses my sleepless lids and burning temples. I am not weary, though I found no rest. My spirit leaps within me; a new glory Blesses the dear, familiar scene—ripe orchard, Garden and grove, and glimmering gulf beyond; The same—yet oh, how different ! Even I thought Soft music trembled on the listening air, As though a harp were touched, blent with low song.