In the Night.
As I enter the shadowy portals of Night,1
To stray in her solitudes vast,2
Pale Memory whispers a vanished delight,3
And summons a shade from the past.4
Lo ! my Marguerite plays : the sweet passion and skill5
That we loved speak again in her art.6
How the strains of her violin sound, at her will,7
Like the chords of a human heart !8
It is only a dream, such as travellers say9
Thirst gives in the lands of the sun ;10
And the sad, sweet face and the form pass away—11
The music and glory are done !12
I call on my love in grief’s passionate words,13
If only one moment, to stay ;14
But all that I hear is the twitter of birds15
That wake in the morning gray.16
Where the far-distant Alps seem a cloud-land of snow,17
Are a lake, and a valley so fair,18
And a sculptured stone, with its record of woe,19
To tell she is sleeping there.20