Francisca
Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light -
But if she sits in her garden bower,
'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.
She listens– but not for the nightingale –
Though her ear expects as soft a tale.
There winds a step through the foliage thick,
And her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.
There whispers a voice thro’ the rustling leaves;
A moment more and they shall meet -
'Tis past - her lover’s at her feet.
Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Altre opere di Lord Byron...
To a Lady Who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided With His Own, and Appointed a Night in December to Meet Him in the Garden
These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense, love or… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…
