@3She.@1 How soft the night wind strokes the meadow grasses And, breathing music, through the woodland passes! Now that the upstart day is dumb, One hears from the still earth a whispering throng Of forces animate, with murmured song Joining the zephyrs' well-attunèd hum. @3He.@1 I catch the tone from wondrous voices brimming, Which sensuous on the warm wind drifts to me, While, streaked with misty light uncertainly, The very heavens in the glow are swimming. @3She.@1 The air like woven fabric seems to wave, Then more transparent and more lustrous groweth; Meantime a muted melody outgoeth From happy fairies in their purple cave. To sphere-wrought harmony Sing they, and busily The thread upon their silver spindles floweth. @3He.@1 Oh lovely night! how effortless and free O'er samite black—though green by day—thou movest! And to the whirring music that thou lovest Thy foot advances imperceptibly. Thus hour by hour thy step doth measure— In trancèd self-forgetful pleasure Thou'rt rapt; creation's soul is rapt with thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LITTLE SON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A WEEK IN A BOY'S LIFE by JACQUES BOE ENVY; A FRAGMENT by JANE BOWDLER BEAUTIFUL HANDS by INA LADD BROWN SONG. THESE PRAIRIES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |