We 're right for a spell, But the fever is--well, No thing to be braved, at least; So bring me the wine; No low fever in mine, For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear, For a drink is more kind than a priest. DEATH Storm and strife and stress, Lost in a wilderness, Groping to find a way, Forth to the haunts of day Sudden a vista peeps, Out of the tangled deeps, Only a point--the ray But at the end is day. Dark is the dawn and chill, Daylight is on the hill, Night is the flitting breath, Day rides the hills of death. NIGHT, DIM NIGHT Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains, (Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder) The trees are sad, and the wind complains, Outside the rolling of the thunder, And the beat against the panes. Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain, (Are thy redolent lips a-quiver?) My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain? My love goes surging like a river, Shall its tide bear naught save pain? LYRICS OF LOVE AND SORROW I Love is the light of the world, my dear, Heigho, but the world is gloomy; The light has failed and the lamp down hurled, Leaves only darkness to me. Love is the light of the world, my dear, Ah me, but the world is dreary; The night is down, and my curtain furled But I cannot sleep, though weary. Love is the light of the world, my dear, Alas for a hopeless hoping, When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled, And a soul went blindly groping. II The light was on the golden sands, A glimmer on the sea; My soul spoke clearly to thy soul, Thy spirit answered me. Since then the light that gilds the sands, And glimmers on the sea, But vainly struggles to reflect The radiant soul of thee. III The sea speaks to me of you All the day long; Still as I sit by its side You are its song. The sea sings to me of you Loud on the reef; Always it moans as it sings, Voicing my grief. IV My dear love died last night; Shall I clothe her in white? My passionate love is dead, Shall I robe her in red? But nay, she was all untrue, She shall not go drest in blue; Still my desolate love was brave, Unrobed let her go to her grave. V There are brilliant heights of sorrow That only the few may know; And the lesser woes of the world, like waves, Break noiselessly, far below. I hold for my own possessing, A mount that is lone and still-- The great high place of a hopeless grief, And I call it my "Heart-break Hill." And once on a winter's midnight I found its highest crown, And there in the gloom, my soul and I, Weeping, we sat us down.