Visions of the dusk / Fenton Johnson [electronic text]

LYRICS OF LOVE.

LYRIC ONE.

I.

When in Slumberland the dreams go forth To my heart a darling maiden comes, Stardust are her eyes, her lips love flame, And an angel tune she softly hums.

II.

Never 'neath the dwelling place of God, Never by the lake or by the sea, Was a man so blest as I am blest With the love that Clara gives to me.

III.

Oh, my heart will burn for ages long From a fever that will never die, For in Slumber land an elfin rogue Poured his magic lotion on my eye.

LYRIC TWO.

I.

This is the hour, my love, the hour of tryst; The earth is sleeping in the cool of dusk, The lily-of-the valley nods and sways, The air is drooping with the perfumed musk.

II.

Ah! open wide, my love, thy garden' gate; Eftsoons the ancient moon will ply her barge, For thee I bring sweet Cupid's rosary, To thee a book of kisses do I charge.

III.

When Eden's glory thrived, fair Eve was won At such an hour as this, our trysting hour, And burning Romeo, when Night was Queen, Enthralled young Juliet within her bower.

IV.

Then blest be every hour that Love holds sway, And sweet the roses of the eventide. Then blest the crucial moment of this life, When down the stream of passion sweethearts glide.

LYRIC THREE.

I.

Sweet pigeon carrier upon my roof, Oh, tell me, tell me how my lover fares! Last night to war he marched, his breast aglow, Within his heart his troubled country's cares.

II.

"O lovely maiden, many tears shall fall Ere to thy bosom shall thy lover fly; Beneath the Belgian moon, in bloody death, With thousands does your ardent lover lie."

III.

Oh, woe is me! The moon and stars have died, No more for me the dance on village green; My couch is spread upon the meadowland, Six feet of darkness 'neath the churchyard green.

LYRIC FOUR.

I.

Returned am I, my trusted sweetheart dead; Upon her lonely grave Golgotha's Cross,

Upon the stone the dreaded legend "Gone!" Upon the mound a spray of hawthorn moss.

II.

She went when Springtime kissed the sleeping earth, Too soon to fall the prey of brooding grief. For one who shall be lonely through the years, She gave the God of Death a life too brief.

III.

I care not now what woes may fall on me, The sorrow infinite is ever mine. Beside the river Lethe I shall muse, But never taste the sweetness of the wine.