The Daily Crescent

DAILY CRESCENT.

I THINK OF THEE....By W. F. SPICER.

I think of thee, while lingering here all lonely,
Which breathless seems to sleep, or murmurs only.
Beside my casement, gazing on the night,
When June-like breezes whisper in their flight;
Seldom to earth doth Winter thus impart
Such sunny days, and nights all silvered o'er;
And oh, if Winter ever fill thy heart,
Be it like this, till Summer comes once more.

I think of thee-my merry friends are gone—
Their gleeful echoes fail no longer near;
In memory's arms my spirit now is borne.
And meets thine angel glance, to me so dear.
Oh, on such nights as this, when far at sea.
Gliding along 'neath many a planet's beam.
How oft hath fancy brought that smile to me,
To cheer my watch or bless some flitting dream.

I think of thee-the mournful bells are ringing
A parting anthem to the hours that flee-
Another day appears, and with it bringing
Many glad hours, I fondly trust, to thee.
And now has passed away their lingering strain-
Echo's last tone has murmured into rest-
Night fondly turns to silence once again-
And rests her jewelled head upon his breast.

I think of thee, and o'er my lute-strings wander,
Seeking some chord of friendly sympathy;
And, while I sing, upon thy sweetness ponder,
Till love becomes almost idolatry
Should the low breeze which now is by me sweeping
Come near thy lattice and steal to thine ear,
Oh, chide it not, if it awake thy sleeping.
Breathing this song, which tells thee thou art dear.