Midnight Flower - Katharine Blake

fly not yet 'tis just the hour

when pleasure like the midnight flower

that scorns the eye of vulgar light

begins to bloom for sons of night

and maids who love the moon

'twas but to bless these hours of shade

that beauty and the moon were made

'tis then their soft beguiling glow

will set the tides and wine aflow

for maids who love the moon

joy so seldom weaves like this tonight

but oh 'tis pain to break its links so soon

oh stay oh stay

fly not yet 'tis just the hour

when pleasure’s like the midnight flower

though icy cold by day we ran

yet still like souls of mirth we began

to burn when night was near