THE night was scented like a peach, The balustrade was cold to touch; The words that linked us, each to each, Expressed too little, -- or too much! The music sobbed beneath the trees That soared into a purple sky; On nights so delicate as these We dare not dream that we must die. The breeze came scented o'er the vines Down limestone mountains ghostly pale; What boundless hopes the heart confines! And hopes should never faint nor fail. The plaintive string, the wailing brass Struck up a livelier note of glee; But moods, like clouds at midnight, pass -- And who so sorrowful as we? The laurels flashed their silver tongues Within the perfumed moonlit night; Our pulses overflowed with songs Of life's ineffable delight, -- Then ebbed with fear of growing old, With nameless dread, with shadowy care; The balustrade was marble-cold, And like a peach the wandering air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM: EHEU FUGACES by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM OLD FOLKS AT HOME by STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER DIVINA COMMEDIA (INTRODUCTORY POEMS): 1 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AN ARAB WELCOME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHERD; OR COMPLAINT OF DAPHNIS by RICHARD BARNFIELD MAGIC TOURS by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN |