I stood beside you in the dark,
And felt the magic of the night
Steal o'er my senses, 'til they swooned,
And mists of passion dimmed my sight.

The stillness made me dumb, those words
I dared not utter choked my breath,
Each crushing each, as mad with life
They rose, to die a silent death.

My lips grew dry beneath the fire
Of kisses that they feign would give,
And every pulse, with answering beat,
Throbbed in its eagerness to live.

An August Night

Hot with the ardour of the sun,
Whose burning lips had slain the noon,
The golden pallor of the moon
Was but an added fire, o'ercome
With memories she swooned away,
While I, grown weary with the day
Sought on my balcony to find
Some solace for my groping mind,
But lo ! the awful night was fraught
With anguish, from the noontide caught;
The dark was breathless, and the skies
Filled with a thousand prying eyes
But scoffed to see my soul's despair,
And flung me back my tortured prayer.

A Night In Italy

Time hangs suspended 'mid the perfumed dusk,
With limpid wings, o'er which the first pale star
Gleams like a tear, within the tender, far
Desirous eyes of love-lorn Destiny.
The earth is dumb, the scents of many flowers
Flow out from petalled lips upon her breast,
In one unending sigh of happy rest.
The halting pageant of the passing hours
Unfurls its misty pennants to the sea.
The Nightingale has swooned for ecstasy,
And hides away amid the vine-clad bowers
Upon the terrace; Oh! impassioned dusk!
Speechless with longing, throbbing with delight
To fling thy beauty in the arms of night,
Thy rare, dim beauty sweet with breath of musk,
Thou shalt not know thy joy nor him requite
With tender ardour, ere there comes to me
Adown thy paths from out eternity,
My soul's twin soul, mine embodied bliss,
Torn from the countless ages by a kiss.