No blade of grass awaiting takes 
The dew fresh-fallen above, 
Because my lover swoons, and slakes 
Her body’s thirst of love. 
This night no dewfall from the blue !— 
Unless my Alice be the dew. 
 
 
This night—O never dawn shall crest 
The world of wakening, 
Because my lover has my breast 
On hers for dawn and spring. 
This night shall never be withdrawn— 
Unless my Alice be the dawn. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
47