Henry Dumont

TO thee, O fairest of the world, my love,

I send the messengers that fly with song,

And bear their precious gifts from heart to heart.

They leave my lips here in the fragrant night

To seek thy casement, opened to the moon,

Whose golden beauty moves the dreaming sea.

Awake from dreams, my love, as wakes the sea,

Whose bosom stirs beneath the spell of love,

And swells, enchanted by the urgent moon!

Up through the flowery darkness flies my song,

Like bird bewildered in the maze of night,

To flutter at the portals of thy heart.

Unto my yearning heart, O tender heart,

Be tenderer than is the yielding sea

Unto the moon! For what romance hath night

To offer, if it hold no flame of love?

If love be not its echo, what is song?

If love be absent, banish too the moon.

Tonight, O fairest, shines a lingering moon,

Whose light makes lonelier the lonely heart.

Arise, beloved! I will tune my song

To the wild carol of the vagrant sea,

And sing to thee a wilder song of love

Than sings the sea unto its god of night.

The roses drink with joy the dews of night,

Their pleasure secret from the placid moon,

While I am thirsting for the dews that love

Hath gathered purely to thy lips and heart.

Thy heart, O loved one, is not as the sea

That hath no memory of love or song.

Thy heart must answer to my amorous song,

As to the nightingale its mate, this night,

Where roses droop above the sleeping sea.

Thy lips must hush my own before the moon

Shall ease its longing near the sea’s deep heart.

Awake, dear dreamer, to the voice of love!

Oh, hear my song, before the lapsing moon

Bereave the night; or I, with grieving heart,

Must wander by the sea, bereft of love!