There are harps that complain to the presence of night,
To the presence of night alone—
In a near and unchangeable tone—
Like winds, full of sound, that go whispering by,
As if some immortal had stooped from the sky,
And breathed out a blessing—and...
|
I heard the trailing garments of the Night I felt her presence, by its spell of might, |
in the still, star-lit night, A shade fell on the grass; |
I feel the breath of the summer night, The white moths flutter about the lamp, |
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home; |
When stars pursue their solemn flight, Or lovers... |
Bend low, O dusky Night, Enfold me... |
Beneath the midnight moon of May, |
Close on the edge of a midsummer dawn |
The wintry blast goes wailing by, Dim forms go flitting through the gloom; |