ALL day the glorious Sun caressed Wide meadows and white winding way, And on the Earth's soft heaving breast Heart-warm his royal kisses lay. She looked up in his face and smiled, With mists of love her face seemed dim; The golden Emperor was beguiled, To dream she would be true to him. Yet was there, 'neath his golden shower, No end of love for him astir; She waited, dreaming, for the hour When Night, her love, should come to her; When 'neath Night's mantle she should creep And feel his arms about her cling, When the soft tears true lovers weep Should make amends for everything.
Return to the E. Nesbit library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Fields of Flanders