A Summer Night

Twilight descends, and is broken
On the green hills of the West;
The stars to their places have spoken,
And the sun as a god is rest;
Ever and ever, till the heart of the night
Is pulseless, and high, and bright.

Through the russet and gold of the river,
There waft as a senseless soul,
The whispers and ripples of silver,
Of the ghosts of the waters that roll;
Somehow it seems that is part of my home,
The creaking of wand and the dome.

Where I have my hour and my season,
And life with my priests hath respect;
A beauty so past our reason,
A dream that we do not reject;
The happiness is more than pity,
For life is but one of the rose.

In all are the shadows and shades of the trees —
The spun-silver isle is still and fair,
The night has the pure virgin ease;
Oh, darkness that shows us so clearly
Our beautiful cares with a charm!
Forever, forever, to hold us—thee near
Am I in a fruit-laden arm.

— James Collinson

• James Collinson