BEAUTY TREADS SOFTLY by ELEANOR G. R. YOUNG

I am remembering an August night—
A night of cool, damp stillness;
A night with a hush of wonder
Trembling through its hours.
Before me, three exquisite buds
Of alabaster whiteness,
Of elusive, delicious fragrance
Are unfolding
In surprising order.

Slowly, with elegant precision,
Like a slender white princess
Of Fairyland,
A long bud parts its
Many petaled lips
And spills its heavy fragrance
On the night.
Peer as I will into the wonderland
Of lacy stillness that lies just beyond
I cannot see the flower's hidden heart
Until the petals,
Cool as blades of ice,
Fall slowly back
In orderly array

At last the lovely chaliced bud unfurls
And fairy spears fall noiselessly in place

Perhaps tomorrow I shall hear it said:
"Your Night-Blooming Cereus bore
Three lovely blooms; too bad
They do not last."

"Oh, but they do,"
My heart is sure to sing.
"Beauty, that treads so softly
On the night,
That is a miracle of loveliness,
Can never fade:
It lives forever
In each grateful heart."

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