Nocturn
I walk, I only,Not I only wake;Nothing is, this sweet night,But doth couch and wakeFor its love’s sake;Everything, this sweet night,Couches with its mate.For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sunIs the naked moonTremulous and elate?The heaven hath the earthIts own and all apart;The hushèd pool holdethA 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 heartFor 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 thisSeemeth much to thee?—I wander only.The rose hath her kiss.