By Luis G. Dato
It is the Angelus-hour of prayer and rest,
A wind is sighing through the forest dim,
The day is dying in the bowering west,
When ‘neath the vines I give my heart to him.
I breathe of roses, and the air is sweet,
A flower yielding to the bee were less
Joyous to me, as kneeling by my feet,
Hand on his lips, he asked of love’s caress.
A moon has shouldered up the mountain rim,
Bright stars are winking from white clouds high up,
I hold the flower of my heart to him,
And, drop by drop, love leaves an empty cup.
A breath of incense scents the garden round,
There is a music in the rumurous sky,
With tired, ecstatic eyes and hair unbound,
Under the stars and vines we kiss, we sigh.
