 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
32
WHIP-POOR-WILL.
The Western sky blazed through the trees,
And in the East the dove-light shone;
Low fields of clover to the breeze
Gave out a fragrant monotone;
While sharp-voiced, whirring things beyond
Sent a faint treble through the air,
And discords of the hidden pond
Pulsed like an anthem, deep and rare.
Yet all the twilight range seemed still,
The tumult was so subtle-sweet;
When forth it burst,—clear, slow, complete,
The evening call of
“Whip-poor-will!”
And in the East the dove-light shone;
Low fields of clover to the breeze
Gave out a fragrant monotone;
While sharp-voiced, whirring things beyond
Sent a faint treble through the air,
And discords of the hidden pond
Pulsed like an anthem, deep and rare.
Yet all the twilight range seemed still,
The tumult was so subtle-sweet;
When forth it burst,—clear, slow, complete,
The evening call of
“Whip-poor-will!”
33
The yarrow, crowding by the hedge,
Stirred not its specked, uncertain white;
The locust on the upland's edge
Stood tranced against the blaze of light;
For now the throbbing air was mute,
Since that wild note had pierced it through,—
That call so clear, so resolute,
So tender, dominant and true.
When suddenly, across the hill,—
Long, low and sweet, with dreamy fall,
Yet true and mellow, call for call,
Elate, and with a human thrill,—
Came the far answer:
“Whip-poor-will!”
Stirred not its specked, uncertain white;
The locust on the upland's edge
Stood tranced against the blaze of light;
For now the throbbing air was mute,
Since that wild note had pierced it through,—
That call so clear, so resolute,
So tender, dominant and true.
When suddenly, across the hill,—
Long, low and sweet, with dreamy fall,
Yet true and mellow, call for call,
Elate, and with a human thrill,—
Came the far answer:
“Whip-poor-will!”
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |