 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
A SUMMER IDYL.
It was a moonlit summer night;
The heavens were drenched with silver rain,
And frowning rose Katahdin's height
Above the murmuring woods of Maine.
The heavens were drenched with silver rain,
And frowning rose Katahdin's height
Above the murmuring woods of Maine.
Close by our resting-place a stream
That seemed to long to kiss our feet
Sang, as it went, some fairy theme,—
Musical, low, and incomplete.
That seemed to long to kiss our feet
Sang, as it went, some fairy theme,—
Musical, low, and incomplete.
The world was hushed, but nothing slept.
The cricket shrilled amid the sheaves,
And through the mighty woods there crept
The mystic utterances of leaves.
The cricket shrilled amid the sheaves,
And through the mighty woods there crept
The mystic utterances of leaves.
100
Never had moonbeams shone so bright,
Never had earth seemed half so fair;
I loved the stream, the trees, the night,
The wondrous azure of the air.
Never had earth seemed half so fair;
I loved the stream, the trees, the night,
The wondrous azure of the air.
And through my very finger-tips
I felt the full enjoyment thrill;
I wished I could with loving lips
Kiss the sweet moon that crowned the hill!
I felt the full enjoyment thrill;
I wished I could with loving lips
Kiss the sweet moon that crowned the hill!
Ah, why? Another moon I knew,
Less luminous, but all as fair,
Above my shoulder shining, through
A wondrous haze of golden hair;—
Less luminous, but all as fair,
Above my shoulder shining, through
A wondrous haze of golden hair;—
Shining as once Diana shone
Upon the boy, in Ida's grove;
Her stooping face, no longer wan,
Flushed in the harvest-time of love.
Upon the boy, in Ida's grove;
Her stooping face, no longer wan,
Flushed in the harvest-time of love.
So not for me that orb serene,
That grandly crowned the mountain-crest;
And, turning to my proper queen,
I drew her down upon my breast.
That grandly crowned the mountain-crest;
And, turning to my proper queen,
I drew her down upon my breast.
‘O Amy,’ said I, ‘shine on me
Through all my life as that moon shines,
Shedding o'er each asperity
The light that softens and refines;—
Through all my life as that moon shines,
Shedding o'er each asperity
The light that softens and refines;—
‘So mildly, that my eyes can rest
Untiring on your gentle face,
Yet not so distant but my breast
May be your happy resting-place.
Untiring on your gentle face,
Yet not so distant but my breast
May be your happy resting-place.
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‘Bestow that sweet, attractive spell
That draws the sea toward the skies,
And let my tide of being swell
Beneath the lustre of your eyes.
That draws the sea toward the skies,
And let my tide of being swell
Beneath the lustre of your eyes.
‘And if some sullen cloud should sail
'Twixt you and me in social space,
Why, when 't is past I will inhale
A sweeter influence from your face.
'Twixt you and me in social space,
Why, when 't is past I will inhale
A sweeter influence from your face.
‘Be changeful, too, like that sweet moon!
Change is the law of earthly life,
And nature hums the varying tune
Of weal and woe, of peace and strife.’
Change is the law of earthly life,
And nature hums the varying tune
Of weal and woe, of peace and strife.’
She ruffled all her yellow hair,
But, answering not a single word,
Veiled in the dusky twilight air,
She nestled to me like a bird.
But, answering not a single word,
Veiled in the dusky twilight air,
She nestled to me like a bird.
And in the vague electric spark,
Felt only when cheek touches cheek,
I knew through all the shadows dark
The promise that she did not speak.
Felt only when cheek touches cheek,
I knew through all the shadows dark
The promise that she did not speak.
O blessed moonlit summer night!
When earth seemed drenched with silver rain,
And frowning rose Katahdin's height
Above the murmuring woods of Maine.
When earth seemed drenched with silver rain,
And frowning rose Katahdin's height
Above the murmuring woods of Maine.
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |