| Soothe! soothe! soothe! | |
| Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, | |
| And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every one close, | |
| But my love soothes not me, not me. | |
| |
| Low hangs the moon—it rose late; | |
| O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love. | |
| |
| O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land, | |
| With love—with love. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
No comments:
Post a Comment