The slow and low and mellow air
Like a soft, spring breeze of night
Comes creeping up the creaking stair
Where I sit, reading in the night.
The pensive sighs of the night-song hold
My nomad thoughts to her whose hands
Like lovers under stars of gold
Meander down the ivory sands.
Her fingers journey down the keys,
And play one song, as two in love—
No worrying wind, no bitter breeze,
Just silent sighs and the stars above.
And who am I with my roving mind
To let her walk alone that shore?
I say to myself, “Be kind, be kind,
She needs your heart, your love—no more.”
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