William Morris (1834–1896)

PRAY but one prayer for me ’twixt thy closed lips,

Think but one thought of me up in the stars.

The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,

Faint and grey ’twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,

That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:

Patient and colourless, though Heaven’s gold

Waits to float through them along with the sun.

Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,

The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold

The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;

Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn,

Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.

Speak but one word to me over the corn,

Over the tender, bow’d locks of the corn.