Gerald Massey

Stanzas to Amy

'Tis midnight; hush'd in slumber low,
How beautiful is Nature now!
While I, with feverish heart and brow,
        Awake, to weep for thee, Amy.
The spangled glories of the night;
The earth, like Love, array'd in light;
These cannot charm my trancéd sight,
        Or lure a thought from thee, Amy.

I ponder o'er that short sweet time
When my heart drank a summer's prime,
And bloom'd, as in a warmer clime,
        When I was blest with thee, Amy.
There hung no blossoms on the trees
There woke no song of birds or bees;
But, for us, Love's Cup had no lees,
        And I was blest with thee, Amy.

Then all these golden fancies start,
That ever linger near my heart,
And cling, till they become a part
        Of life, of love and thee, Amy
And memory counts her tear-wash'd
            treasure;
Each soft word, kind look, melting
            measure,
Sheds on my soul a pensive pleasure,
        And wakes the tear for thee, Amy. 

I know, in pleasure's shining bow'r,
Thy heart may half forget love's pow'r;
But, at this lone and silent hour,
        Does it not turn to me, Amy?
Does fond regret not dim thine eye?
Heaves thy young heart on trembling
            sigh?
Flits there no recollection by
        To wake a thought of me, Amy?

When flow'rs peep forth, 'neath smiling
            skies,
And blushing pant delicious sighs, 
While sweet pearls tremble in their eyes,
        On thine all tenderly, Amy;
In jewell'd mead and flow'r-crown'd
            brake—
Or on thy midnight couch awake—
By all my pangs, for thy sweet sake,
        Oh sometimes think of me, Amy.

                  A TRING PEASANT BOY