Song

I

Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear!
All the house is asleep, but we know very well
That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may hear,
Though you’ve padded his night-cap⁠—O sweet Isabel!
Though your feet are more light than a Faery’s feet,
Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet⁠—
Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear!
For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.

II

No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there
On the river,⁠—all’s still, and the night’s sleepy eye
Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care,
Charm’d to death by the drone of the humming May-fly;
And the Moon, whether prudish or complaisant,
Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want
No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom,
But my Isabel’s eyes, and her lips pulp’d with bloom.

III

Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly⁠—sweet!
We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink!
Well done⁠—now those lips, and a flowery seat⁠—
The old man may sleep, and the planets may wink;
The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake
Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning take,
The stock-dove shall hatch her soft brace and shall coo,
While I kiss to the melody, aching all through.