FROM THE SPANISH.
THE golden moments fly like yellow bees,
Which come with honey from the flowery field.
The golden moments all their sweetness yield, -
Their flowery sweetness, honeyed memories.
Ah, memories too sweet for perfect peace,
Unless I share them; yet my lips are sealed.
Would not the charm be lost if I revealed
That name, to me so full of harmonies?
No hour, no moment, in the livelong day
But is weighed down with honeyed thoughts of thee.
Imprinted on the night's page dim and gray,
Thy smiling face, thine eyes, thy form, I see.
The music of the ocean far away
Without thy name would but discordant be.
I wonder if none wonder why I smile,
As, thinking of my love, I walk the street,
And neither see nor hear the folk I greet,
But only see my one love all the while.
I wandered many a long and joyous mile
Through fragrant woods, whose boughs were locked o'erhead.
Blithe birds were carolling for me; I only said,
"Fly, fly to her! her happy hours beguile."
'T was only yesterday I saw my love, -
'T was only yestereve I saw my own.
Beside her window sat she quite alone,
With eyes fixed on the starry heights above.
She saw me not, and I gazed from afar,
As one who worships the pale evening star.