Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait,
The crescent moon swings low,--it groweth late,--
A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!--
Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes;
Joy hath one summer time--like to the rose
Love only, lives through all the winter's snows.
So haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own:
But see!--A rose-leaf on the night-wind blown,--
For thee I wait--for thee I wait alone!--
So haste, my Sweet!