Night, and the hill to me! Silence, no sound that jars; Above, of stars a sea; Below, a sea of stars! Trancéd in slumber's sway, The city at its feet. A tang of salty spray Blends with the odors sweet From garden-close and wall, Where the madroño stood, And tangled chaparral, In the old solitude. Here, from the Long Ago, Rezanov's sailors sleep; There, the Presidio; Beyond, the pluméd steep; The waters, mile on mile, Foam-fringed with feathery white; The beaconed fortress isle, And Yerba Buena's light. O hill of memories! Thy scroll so closely writ With song, that bough and breeze And bird should utter it: Hill of desire and dream, Youth's visions manifold, That still in beauty gleam From the sweet days of old! Ring out thy solemn tone, O far-off Mission bell! I keep the tryst alone With one who loved me well. A voice I may not hear! Face that I may not see, Yet know a Presence near To watch the hour with me.... How stately and serene The moon moves up the sky! How silvery between The shores her footprints lie! Peace, that no shadow mars! Night and the hill to me! Below, a sea of stars! Above, of stars a sea! |