C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Mary Newmarch Prescott (1849–1888)

IN the dark, in the dew,

I am smiling back to you;

But you cannot see the smile,

And you’re thinking all the while

How I turn my face from you

In the dark, in the dew.

In the dark, in the dew,

All my love goes out to you,

Flutters like a bird in pain,

Dies and comes to life again;

While you whisper, “Sweetest, hark:

Some one’s sighing in the dark,

In the dark, in the dew!”

In the dark, in the dew,

All my heart cries out to you,

As I cast it at your feet,

Sweet indeed, but not too sweet;

Wondering will you hear it beat,

Beat for you, and bleed for you,

In the dark, in the dew!