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NIGHT AND MORNING
I knew not which thrill'd me the most of the two,
Or which was the brightest and loveliest blue.
I felt my heart melting away in the charm,
But I summoned it up: as she leant on my arm
Given half in support, given half in caress,
I asked if she loved me;—she whisper'd me, "Yes."
Or which was the brightest and loveliest blue.
I felt my heart melting away in the charm,
But I summoned it up: as she leant on my arm
Given half in support, given half in caress,
I asked if she loved me;—she whisper'd me, "Yes."
'Twas morn, the pale gleams and the shadows had fled;
We met, but the moonlight illusion was dead.
In daylight we all see too clearly and far,
The daylight shows persons and things as they are.
The visions of love 'neath its practical light
Are scattered away, like the phantoms of night.
I felt myself alter'd, I thought her so too,
But believed I was bound the fond theme to renew.
In a common-place tone, rather stammering and low,
I asked if she loved me;—she answered me,—"No."
We met, but the moonlight illusion was dead.
In daylight we all see too clearly and far,
The daylight shows persons and things as they are.
The visions of love 'neath its practical light
Are scattered away, like the phantoms of night.
I felt myself alter'd, I thought her so too,
But believed I was bound the fond theme to renew.
In a common-place tone, rather stammering and low,
I asked if she loved me;—she answered me,—"No."
'Twas all clear as the day, no disguise or suspense,
Twas not sentimental; but, oh, it was sense.
Twas not sentimental; but, oh, it was sense.