Beneath her window in the fragrant night I half forget how truant years have
Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow
Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
Like restless birds, the breath of coming
Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street When all is still, as if the very
Were listening for the coming of her feet That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the
Sings some forgotten song of those old
Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.
