@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...THE BROWN THRUSH by LUCY LARCOM THIS WAY FOR ROMANCE by BERTON BRALEY LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT PHILLY AND WILLY - A DUET by ROBERT BURNS PROLOGUE INTENDED FOR 'THE OLD BACHELOR' by ANTHONY CARY ADVICE GRATIS TO CERTAIN WOMEN, BY A WOMAN by PHOEBE CARY TO A WIND-FLOWER by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS INEVITABLE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |