But one short night between my Love and me! I watch the soft-shod dusk creep wistfully Through the slow-moving curtains, pausing by And shrouding with its spirit-fingers free...
The world may rage without, Quiet is here; Statesmen may toil and shout, Cynics may sneer; The great world, - let it go, - June warmth be March's snow, I care not, - be it so Since I am here....
The sky, grown dull through many waiting days, Flashed into crimson with the sunrise charm, So all my love, aroused to vague alarm, Flushed into fire and burned with eager blaze....
This April sun has wakened into cheer The wintry paths of thought, and tinged with gold These threadbare leaves of fancy brown and old. This is for us the wakening of the year...