by Luis G. Dato
Your windows closed and silent say you sleep,
Your pillows warm with kisses that to have
Were sheerest Heaven to your hapless slave,
A harvest with all ecstasy to reap.
Or treasure in remembrance e’er to keep,
The while the poet’s lyre with song must rave,
Remembering the largess that you gave,
At rapture of whose kiss my heart shall leap.
But ‘tis not so, ‘tis cold, I’m lone, alas!
And from a night of sleepless weariness,
I have kept tally of the hours that pass
Banished from love, far, far from her caress.
O when shall you my loveless moment bless?
Arise! the bells now call to early mass!