A Gazelle

Last night, when my tired eyes were shut with sleep, I saw the one I love, and heard her speak,— Heard, in the listening watches of the night, The sweet words melting from her sweeter lips: But what she said, or seemed to say, to me I have forgotten, though, till morning broke, I kept repeating her melodious words. Long, long may Jami’s eyes be blest with sleep, Like that which last night stole him from himself,— That perfect rest which, closing his tired lids, Disclosed the hidden beauty of his love, And, filling his soul with music all the while, Imposed forgetfulness, instructing him That silence is more significant of love Than all the burning words in lovers’ songs!