Calm where twilight leaves have stilled
With their shadow light and sound,
Let our silent love be filled
With a silence as profound.
Let our ravished senses blend
Heart and spirit, thine and mine,
With vague languors that descend
From the branches of the pine.
Close thine eyes against the day,
Fold thine arms across thy breast,
And for ever turn away
All desire of all but rest.
Let the lulling breaths that pass
In soft wrinkles at thy feet,
Tossing all the tawny grass,
This and only this repeat.
And when solemn evening
Dims the forest's dusky air,
Then the nightingale shall sing
The delight of our despair.