Poems (Griffin)/The Broken Bower

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THE BROKEN BOWER.
NOT in city nor in country Roamed they at the twilight hour,But within a village door-yard Stood they by a broken bower,—
Broken bower, among whose leaflets Softly stole the silvery feetOf the young moon's gentle beamlets, Starlight shimmering rays to greet.
Twilight deepened, still they lingered,— Lingered 'neath the maple-tree;One was speaking, softly speaking, One was listening silently.
And the vows which there were spoken, Are too sacred here to tell,—Vows which never may be broken, From love's lips impassioned fell.
And the low-toned whispering breezes, As they gently rustled by, ​Wafted, on their dewy pinions, Each fond accent to the sky.
Upward, on their wings, they bore them To the pearly gates above;And by angels were recorded In their registers of love.
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