Ballade
O Love, whom I have never seen,
Yet ever hope to see;
The memory that might have been
The hope that yet may be;
The passion that persistently
Makes all my pulses beat
With unassuaged desire that we
Some day may come to meet:
This August night outspread serene,
The scent of flower and tree,
The fall of water that unseen
Moans on incessantly,
That line of fire, where breaks the sea
In ripples at my feet;
What mean they all, if not that we
Some day may come to meet?
About your window bowered in green
The night wind wanders free,
While out into the night you lean,
And dream, but not of me,
As now I dream of you who flee
Before my dream complete
The shadow of the day when we
Some day may come to meet.
Envoy.
Princess, while yet on lawn and lea
The harvest moon is sweet,
Ere August die, who knows but we
Some day may come to meet?
“Love in Idleness.”