html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }The moon rose up at ten last night,
And peered above yon mountain height,
Flooding the river at its feet
With amber glory, calm and sweet;
And restless birdies, wide awake,
Kept twittering in the neighb'ring brake,
Low telling to their listening wives
The thoughts and dreams of their bird-lives,
As if such nights were made, forsooth!
For birds to chat, and not in truth
For them to nestle down and sleep
Till bright Aurora bids them peep.
We met down on the sandy beach
As we had promised each to each
Our dainty bark was soon untied,
And pushed off from the river side.
Slowly we drifted down the stream,
Wrapped in the bliss of love's first dream
And the fair moon above perchance,
In bending earthward her bright glance,
Caught the warm gleam within our eyes,
And heard the fond, low-voiced replies
Of heart to heart, as on my hand
Was slipped love's slender golden band.
O, tell me, radiant amber moon,
And tell me, joyous night of June,
If any heart in the wide earth
Found in your reign so glad a birth
Of joy and peace, as did mine own
When last night's stars so softly shone?
To-night an hour after ten
The amber moon will rise again,
But many, many miles, I ween,
Will stretch their weary length between
My love and me; but one bright ray
Gleams through the shadow which doth lay
Upon my heart, for ere the moon
Illumes a night of next year's June,
He will return, my hand to claim,
And give me for my own, his name.
O! then, dull Time, speed swiftly on,
And haste the hour of his return.
June, 1870.