The Moon and Pleiades have set, / Midnight is nigh, / The time is passing, passing, yet / Alone I lie.
The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided
No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.