We heard a quiet step and the noise
of an opening window.
"_O Carlos mio_," she breathed in the mother tongue, "I knew you would
come."
"Adela _mia_," he called softly, "my angel, I hoped you would be here
and--and you are."
"You have been so long," she sighed.
"Henderson," I said, "if you have any decency, go to sleep."
We rolled over and closed our eyes, while unknown to us the breeze
wafted up the heavy night odor of the roses and the yellow moon slowly
moved toward the western heavens.
_Literary Monthly_, 1906.
THE AWAKENING
WILLARD ANSLEY GIBSON '08
When March has tuned his willow pipes,
The robins in the rain
Take up the song with plaintive notes
And sing the sweet refrain.
Then April, sleepy child of Spring,
Awakes, to music yields,
Goes dancing 'cross the fields.
The modest buds, once red and brown,
Burst forth in plumes of green,
And interlace the barren boughs
With wreaths of vernal sheen.
The old sun-dial beside the walk
Takes heart for sunny day;
But half-awake marks sleepy hours
By light through spring-time haze.
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