The blue night falleth, the moon
Is over the hill; make fast,
Fasten the latch, I am tired: come soon,
Come! I would sleep at last
In your bosom, my love, my love!
The airy chamber above
Has the lattice ajar, that night
May breathe upon you and me, my love,
And the moon bless our marriage-rite—
Come, lassy, to bed, to bed!
The roof-thatch overhead
Shall cover the stars' bright eyes;
The fleecy quilt shall be coverlid
For your meek virginities,
And your wedding, my bride, my bride!
See, we are side to side,
Virgin in deed and name—
Come, for love will not be denied,
Tarry not, have no shame:
Are we not man and bride?
1894.