The spirit of mine eyes is faint
With gazing on thy light;
I close my eyelids, but within,
Sweet, thou art shining bright,
Sitting amid the purple gloom,
Like a flower-bird at night!
Thy beauty walketh by my side
By the green wood, on the sea;
I hear thee in the bird that sings
Upon the orange-tree;
Thy face upon the haunted streams
Is looking up to me.
Gentle one, in grief I linger
Beside the glimmering nest,
Till evening sinketh in the flowers,
Like a weary fawn to rest,
Yea, my heart is sick with longing
To dream upon thy breast!
From the dark of their golden lids
Thy singing eyes look out,
Like doves in the olives hearing
The shepherd's jocund shout,
As he wandereth with his pipe
The sunny glen about.
I have opened mine eyes--
Thy beauty will not part,
But thy feet are dancing round me,
Lovely! that thou art--
The sweet breath of thine eyes doth fall,
Like odour on my heart!
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