by John Banister Tabb
O heart that cannot sleep for song!
Behold, I wake with thee,
And drink, as from a fountain strong,
Thy midnight melody,
That, poured upon the thirsting silence, seems
Fresh from the shade of dreams
My spirit, like the sapless bough
Of some long-wintered tree,
Feels suddenly the life that now
Sets all thy passion free,
And flushed as in the wakening strength of wine,
Leaps heavenward with thine.
John Lane, LondonCopeland and Day, Boston