Geraldine Green: I. The Serenade

Light slumber is quitting
The eyelids it pressed,
The fairies are flitting,
Who charmed thee to rest:
Where night-dews were falling
Now feeds the wild bee,
The starling is calling,
My Darling, for thee.

The wavelets are crisper
That sway the shy fern,
The leaves fondly whisper,
"We wait thy return."
Arise then, and hazy
Distrust from thee fling,
For sorrows that crazy
To-morrows may bring.

A vague yearning smote us--
But wake not to weep,
My bark, love, shall float us
Across the still deep,
To isles where the lotos,
Erst lulled thee to sleep.