Good-night! until to-morrow, dear; You go to rest, and I still here Will dream of all you do and say; Will contemplate, as lovers may, Each thing you've touched, with eyes that find Your form in all you leave behind. Your presence, and the joy that fills The heart and soul with countless thrills Is still beside me, and the ship Throbs out with every rise and dip The words that uttered once shall be My music through eternity. VI Let me forget the land, The turmoil and the strife Of cities; let me stand Alone with you and life. Encircled by the sky, Uplifted by the sea, The world is you, and I, Then give yourself to me! VII Don't speak! a word would mar it all, Just put your hand in mine. This silence seems of Heaven, to fall From thence, a thing Divine. Be still! to move would seem profane, So magic is the night, All hushed, yet throbbing with a vein Of passionate delight. Look up! and let your gaze enfold My face that bends above, And in my ardent eyes behold The ecstasy of love. VIII I take my heart with trembling hands, Unworthy vassal though it be, Sad wanderer in many lands, Such as it is I offer thee, And will not even dare complain Shouldst thou this sorry gift disdain. Yet oh! be sure that every sigh, Each beat of anguish deep and sore, Has grown a dagger thrust, which I Must bear for all that's gone before; And bearing it will learn to know The cleansing agony of woe. And this remember, ere you turn Your head away in silent pride, The soul is young that still can learn New truths that Love has simplified; And being young may still attain Perfection, through repentant pain. Then stoop to pity; do not close The gate of Paradise and rest, To one whose spirit seeks repose Within that haven of the blest; But rather fling the portal wide And draw the pilgrim safe inside. IX The past is like an empty dream; The people in it are not real; The joys and sorrows only seem As phantom hands I cannot feel. I will not even count the hours, That lie between those yesterdays And what my present life embowers, Of love and all its golden ways. All that I am, my soul, my mind, And all I ever hope to be I fling, with scarce a look behind Into this present ecstasy. I have not even one regret To waste upon those lagging years, Too colourless to feign forget, Too soulless for repentant tears. No sigh, though life should end for me To-day; so potent is the bliss Of love, I think eternity Is held embodied in a kiss. X