 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
177
NIGHT IN THE TROPICS
The heavens are hung with gems so bright,
Sure this must be a gala night
To which the wingèd clouds invite.
Sure this must be a gala night
To which the wingèd clouds invite.
Each fleecy messenger doth fly
Hunting his angel thro' the sky,
Averring: Sent for thee am I.
Hunting his angel thro' the sky,
Averring: Sent for thee am I.
But now the moon in silver sheen
Looks listless o'er the velvet screen
She soon shall overtop serene;
Looks listless o'er the velvet screen
She soon shall overtop serene;
Like some great lady, coming late,
Whose glory must complete the state
For which the strings and dancers wait.
Whose glory must complete the state
For which the strings and dancers wait.
Nor must the eye be fed alone;
The ear attests in undertone
The music of the sea beach lone.
The ear attests in undertone
The music of the sea beach lone.
And now the stars are out of sight
The moon doth set, with sovereign right
Her beauty in a dome of light.
The moon doth set, with sovereign right
Her beauty in a dome of light.
178
Oh! feast of silence and of thought,
Oh! restful night, of labor wrought,
Oh! crown of all, God's over thought.
Oh! restful night, of labor wrought,
Oh! crown of all, God's over thought.
Samana, May 4.
| From Sunset Ridge | |