Francisca

Juliet Margeret Cameron

Call and I Will Follow

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.

~ Lord Byron ~

It Is the Hour

Maxfield Parrish

Twilight

It Is the Hour

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale's high note is heard--

It is the hour--when lovers' vows

Seem sweet in every whisper'd word--

And gentle winds and waters near

Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met:

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue--

And in the Heaven, that clear obscure

So softly dark--and darkly pure,

That follows the decline of day

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

~ Lord Byron ~