George Essex Evans

(18 June 1863 – 10 November 1909 / London, England)

A Nocturne


Like weary sea-birds spent with flight
   And faltering,
The slow hours beat across the night
   On leaden wing.
The wild bird knows where rest shall be
   Soe'er he roam.
Heart of my heart! apart from thee
   I have no home.

Afar from thee, yet not alone,
   Heart of my heart!
Like some soft haunting whisper blown
   From Heaven thou art.
I hear the magic music roll
   Its waves divine;
The subtle fragrance of thy soul
   Has passed to mine.

Nor dawn nor Heaven my heart can know
   Save that which lies
In lights and shades that come and go
   In thy soft eyes.
Here in the night I dream the day,
   By love upborne,
When thy sweet eyes shall shine and say
   "It is the morn!"

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

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