(FOR MUSIC)
When, stooping from the walls of Heaven, the night Lets down on earth her star-bespangled hair, And all the pavement of the winding stair Is grey beneath a waning crescent’s light, Look down upon the planted olive-trees, A maze of twisted stem and silver leaf; This is the message sighing on the breeze ‘Joy sails on flying wings and youth is brief.’
(HE SINGS)
‘Come down, come down, the little Loves are peeping Between the stems and shadows on the grass And all the prying eyes of earth are sleeping, The sands are running in the hour-glass;
The red anemone a crown shall weave you, Be-jewelled with the dew and spiked with flame, And all the little waiting Loves receive you Beneath the branches whispering your name.
Come down, Lenore; the cock will soon be crowing, The noisy birds awake that now are dumb; Can new hours match the moments that are going? Who knows? Not you nor I, Lenore. Come.’
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