 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
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NIGHT-DREAMS.
Oh, I do love thee, Night!
When twilight dews descend,
And lights and shadows blend,
And sweet-voiced birds their tender vespers sing,
Then furl in sleep the weary wing,
Amid the starlight grove,
And dream in song of love;
While silence sleeps around,
Save when the whispering flowers
Breathe forth a rosy sound,
Like memory sighing o'er lamented hours—
Oh! I do love thee, Night!
When twilight dews descend,
And lights and shadows blend,
And sweet-voiced birds their tender vespers sing,
Then furl in sleep the weary wing,
Amid the starlight grove,
And dream in song of love;
While silence sleeps around,
Save when the whispering flowers
Breathe forth a rosy sound,
Like memory sighing o'er lamented hours—
Oh! I do love thee, Night!
But most I love thee, Night!
That thou dost ever bring,
Upon thy dewy wing,
The voice, the image of my lady-love,
The charm of hall and grove,
The joy of other years,
The sunlight of my tears,
My lost, yet worshipped heaven,
Possessed no more below—
For one brief hour of rapture given—
Then snatched away from vainly wailing woe,
For this I love thee, Night!
That thou dost ever bring,
Upon thy dewy wing,
The voice, the image of my lady-love,
The charm of hall and grove,
The joy of other years,
The sunlight of my tears,
My lost, yet worshipped heaven,
Possessed no more below—
For one brief hour of rapture given—
Then snatched away from vainly wailing woe,
For this I love thee, Night!
With thee I can forget,
The sunny youth has flown,
Love, hope and rapture gone,
That desolation watches round the bowers
Of wedded hearts in happier hours,
And all the cares and fears,
And woes too deep for tears,
And anguish and despair,
That will not cease, that cannot part,
It hath been mine to bear,
Since that wild rending of the broken heart—
I can forget awhile.
The sunny youth has flown,
Love, hope and rapture gone,
That desolation watches round the bowers
Of wedded hearts in happier hours,
And all the cares and fears,
And woes too deep for tears,
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That will not cease, that cannot part,
It hath been mine to bear,
Since that wild rending of the broken heart—
I can forget awhile.
Amid thy shadows, Night!
I see the ancient seers,
The prophets gray with years,
The patriarchs reigning o'er the people blest;
Sages in antique stole and vest,
And bards, whose lays of love
Were heard in Ida's wood and Daphne's grove,
And all the high and holy ones,
Whose brows bend o'er us in our dreams,
Like spirits o'er elysium's streams,
Who leave awhile their starry thrones,
And fill our souls with heaven's celestial gleams.
Thy shades are living, Night!
I see the ancient seers,
The prophets gray with years,
The patriarchs reigning o'er the people blest;
Sages in antique stole and vest,
And bards, whose lays of love
Were heard in Ida's wood and Daphne's grove,
And all the high and holy ones,
Whose brows bend o'er us in our dreams,
Like spirits o'er elysium's streams,
Who leave awhile their starry thrones,
And fill our souls with heaven's celestial gleams.
Thy shades are living, Night!
Dreams come of thee, sweet Night!
Bright visions float around the brain
Of days that cannot dawn again,
And hope deluded smiles mid banished bliss!
Pale lips meet in a long, wild kiss,
Dissevered hearts together beat,
And tearful eyes in rapture meet,
And time flies fast in joy,
And earth resembles heaven!
—I start and wake! o'er morn's dark sky,
As o'er my heart, black clouds are wildly driven—
Where are thy visions, Night?
Bright visions float around the brain
Of days that cannot dawn again,
And hope deluded smiles mid banished bliss!
Pale lips meet in a long, wild kiss,
Dissevered hearts together beat,
And tearful eyes in rapture meet,
And time flies fast in joy,
And earth resembles heaven!
—I start and wake! o'er morn's dark sky,
As o'er my heart, black clouds are wildly driven—
Where are thy visions, Night?
Thou soothest sorrow, Night!
I love to watch thy skies,
And stars like tearless eyes,
And pale, cold moon, whose shivering light is sweet
To lovers when they meet,
By stream or shadowy wood,
In speaking solitude;
For thou dost seem to me,
Beholding her, whose look
Was such as those we see,
Bright Oreads', in the wildwood's wary nook—
When twilight tints the woods.
I love to watch thy skies,
And stars like tearless eyes,
And pale, cold moon, whose shivering light is sweet
To lovers when they meet,
By stream or shadowy wood,
In speaking solitude;
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Beholding her, whose look
Was such as those we see,
Bright Oreads', in the wildwood's wary nook—
When twilight tints the woods.
Thou bringest peace, sweet Night!
To many a wasted heart,
That loves and sighs apart;
As when from Latmos' hill thy gentle queen
Smiled o'er the lovely scene,
And blessed her sleeping lover,
So I do breathe my spirit now,
Old ocean's stormy billows over,
And kiss thy cheek and brow,
And wreathe my arms around thee, Love! as erst,
And fondly think that thou canst see
Thy lover bowed, as at the first,
Before the shrine of his idolatry.
Joy waits upon thee, Night!
To many a wasted heart,
That loves and sighs apart;
As when from Latmos' hill thy gentle queen
Smiled o'er the lovely scene,
And blessed her sleeping lover,
So I do breathe my spirit now,
Old ocean's stormy billows over,
And kiss thy cheek and brow,
And wreathe my arms around thee, Love! as erst,
And fondly think that thou canst see
Thy lover bowed, as at the first,
Before the shrine of his idolatry.
Joy waits upon thee, Night!
Oh, I do love thee, Night!
Though harrowing thoughts arise,
And unavailing sighs,
Yet, Ellen, oft I muse on thee afar,
'Neath Gallia's evening star,
Sweet love! now doubly dear,
For many a lingering parted year!
Time and distance and deep woe
Make thee lovelier, dearer, love!
A heart like mine can never know
Change, while the stars we worshipped, shine above.
Oh, I do love thee, night!
Though harrowing thoughts arise,
And unavailing sighs,
Yet, Ellen, oft I muse on thee afar,
'Neath Gallia's evening star,
Sweet love! now doubly dear,
For many a lingering parted year!
Time and distance and deep woe
Make thee lovelier, dearer, love!
A heart like mine can never know
Change, while the stars we worshipped, shine above.
Oh, I do love thee, night!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |