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Pray but one
prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips,
Think but one
thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night
waneth, the morning light slips,
Faint and grey
'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,
They are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
Waits to
float through them along with the sun.
Far out in the
meadows, above the young corn,
The heavy elms wait,
and restless and cold
The uneasy wind rises; the
roses are dun;
Through the long twilight they pray
for the dawn,
Round the lone house in the midst of
the corn.
Speak but one word to me over the corn,
Over the tender, bowed locks of the corn.
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