St. John’s Eve

The shadowy evening falls in the wood,
And the mist brings a chill of love,
Lulling the weary world into sleep,
With each gentle stirring of the night,
While violets dream beneath the cover;
And softly the wood-thrush sings
Beneath the boughs its serenade,
Sweeping across the moor,
Where peace is the lord of grace.

O solemn night, your darkened spine,
Encoses the lives of spirits bright,
Where starlight flares and fancied spheres
Hover in intent upon our souls,
As the waves of the world delve deep
Into the brilliance of who we are;
For in the silence stillness waits,
As echoes fade into the far.

• Coventry Patmore