I walk, I only, Not I only wake; Nothing is, this sweet night, But doth couch and wake For its love's sake; Everything, this sweet night, Couches with its mate. For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sun Is the naked moon Tremulous and elate? The heaven hath the earth Its own and all apart; The hush-ed pool holdeth A star to its heart. You may think the rose sleepeth, But though she folded is, The wind doubts her sleeping; Not all the rose sleeps, But smiles in her sweet heart For crafty bliss. The wind lieth with the rose, And when he stirs, she stirs in her repose: The wind hath the rose, And the rose her kiss. Ah, mouth of me! Is it then that this Seemeth much to thee?-- I wander only. The rose hath her kiss.
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