The Thought of Her I Cannot Touch

The thought of her I cannot touch Though daylight’s shadow’s stirring such That mystic gleam of fickle night Whose depthless colour finds delight A glimpse of her I cannot keep No more than shards of vesper’d glee Splashed across ole midnight’s sea Have flickered through eternity The wisp of her I cannot feel No more than autumn in the world When leaves have fallen on the rye Golden brown beneath the sky The name of her I dare not speak When angles do for virgins weep Their tears but riffles in the night Of rose like crimson on the rise When brakes a blushing in the sky Beyond the hills to steal the night The thought of her I cannot touch No more than words can utter such Like gentle kisses of a rose Whose peddles sail betwixt the shoals And sailing then beyond the sea Shall bloom again resplendidly.