 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
108
THE ANGELUS.
A wave-like, azure sound,
Upon the pavement of new-fallen snow,
Pure as an Angel's garment on the ground—
Trembling the atmosphere with its soft flow—
Comes swiftly, with its Heaven-dilating swell,
From the Noon-ringing of yon far-off Bell.
Upon the pavement of new-fallen snow,
Pure as an Angel's garment on the ground—
Trembling the atmosphere with its soft flow—
Comes swiftly, with its Heaven-dilating swell,
From the Noon-ringing of yon far-off Bell.
In billowy circles round,
In all directions from the trembling rim,
Upon the sea-like atmosphere, the wave-like sound
Goes spreading, like the setting Moon grows dim—
As soft-embosomed in the air it lies
Waning away its soul until it dies.
In all directions from the trembling rim,
Upon the sea-like atmosphere, the wave-like sound
Goes spreading, like the setting Moon grows dim—
As soft-embosomed in the air it lies
Waning away its soul until it dies.
Into the azure grave
Of Silence, in the embrace of the sky,
Now buried, lies the soft Æolian wave,
Lulled to repose by its own melody—
Soft as the down upon the Cygnet's breast,
Embayed, at noontide, in some lake at rest.
Of Silence, in the embrace of the sky,
Now buried, lies the soft Æolian wave,
Lulled to repose by its own melody—
Soft as the down upon the Cygnet's breast,
Embayed, at noontide, in some lake at rest.
Middletown, Conn., August 8, 1841.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |