Seven times Three

Jean Ingelow (1820–1897)

Love

I LEANED out of window, I smelt the white clover,

Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate;

“Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover—

Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale, wait

Till I listen and hear

If a step draweth near,

For my love he is late!

“The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer,

A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree,

The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer:

To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see?

Let the star-clusters glow,

Let the sweet waters flow,

And cross quickly to me.

“You night-moths that hover where honey brims over

From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep;

You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover

To him that comes darkling along the rough steep.

Ah, my sailor, make haste,

For the time runs to waste,

And my love lieth deep,—

“Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover,

I ’ve conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night.”

By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover;

Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight;

But I ’ll love him more, more

Than e’er wife loved before,

Be the days dark or bright.