by Luis G. Dato
Many a time, by my window, I listened
Museful of soul, by the ways of the world,
Many an hour, had a tear in me glistened
For the life love betrays there unfurled.
And after, ‘mid orchards of scented green cover,
Saw I, from my pane, the young rose in her bloom,
And I mused hot it fared the forgetful lost loves,
Whose voice at the parting so thrilled in the gloom.
Arches of orange and tall palm in flower,
Strays of the twilight that deepened in rain,
Long by my window I remembered my hour.
And nightfall of love, my beginning of pain.
Perhaps she is dead and the long night regretful,
As day itself is, with the coming of night.
As life itself is, be it loveless of fruitful,
But I gaze by my window and sigh as I write.