3. 
To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light, 10
The night is good; because, my love,
They never SAY good-night.

NOTES:  1 Good-night? no, love! the night is ill Stacey manuscript. 5 How were the night without thee good Stacey manuscript. 9 The hearts that on each other beat Stacey manuscript. 11 Have nights as good as they are sweet Stacey manuscript. 12 But never SAY good night Stacey manuscript.

***

BUONA NOTTE.

[Published by Medwin, “The Angler in Wales, or Days and Nights of Sportsmen”, 1834.  The text is revised by Rossetti from the Boscombe manuscript.]

1. 
’Buona notte, buona notte!’—­Come mai
La notte sara buona senza te? 
Non dirmi buona notte,—­che tu sai,
La notte sa star buona da per se.

2. 
Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme, 5
La notte quando Lilla m’abbandona;
Pei cuori chi si batton insieme
Ogni notte, senza dirla, sara buona.

3. 
Come male buona notte ci suona
Con sospiri e parole interrotte!—­ 10
Il modo di aver la notte buona
E mai non di dir la buona notte.

NOTES:  2 sara]sia 1834. 4 buona]bene 1834. 9 Come]Quanto 1834.

***

ORPHEUS.

[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; revised and enlarged by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870.]

A: 
Not far from hence.  From yonder pointed hill,
Crowned with a ring of oaks, you may behold
A dark and barren field, through which there flows,
Sluggish and black, a deep but narrow stream,
Which the wind ripples not, and the fair moon 5
Gazes in vain, and finds no mirror there. 
Follow the herbless banks of that strange brook
Until you pause beside a darksome pond,
The fountain of this rivulet, whose gush
Cannot be seen, hid by a rayless night 10
That lives beneath the overhanging rock
That shades the pool—­an endless spring of gloom,
Upon whose edge hovers the tender light,
Trembling to mingle with its paramour,—­
But, as Syrinx fled Pan, so night flies day, 15
Or, with most sullen and regardless hate,
Refuses stern her heaven-born embrace. 
On one side of this jagged and shapeless hill
There is a cave, from which there eddies up
A pale mist, like aereal gossamer, 20
Whose breath destroys all life—­awhile it veils
The rock—­then, scattered by the wind, it flies
Along the stream, or lingers on the clefts,
Killing the sleepy worms, if aught bide there. 
Upon the beetling edge of that dark rock