Come, let us make love deathless, thou and I, Seeing that our footing…

But she, like sighing forests, Stole on me—full of rest, Her hair was like the sea's wave, Whiteness was in her breast,— (So does one come, at night, upon a wall of roses.)

She comes not when Noon is on the roses— Too bright is Day. She comes not to the Soul till it reposes From work and play. But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices Roll in from Sea, By starlight and by candlelight and dreamlight …

O dreamy, gloomy, friendly Trees, ... Ye, vastest breathers of the air, Shook down with slow and mighty poise Your coolness on the human care, Your wonder on its toys, Your greenness on the heart's despair, Your darkness on its noise.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.

O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return.