In the wild soft summer darkness 
How many and many a night we two together 
Sat in the park and watched the Hudson 
Wearing her lights like golden spangles 
Glinting on black satin. 
The rail along the curving pathway 
Was low in a happy place to let us cross, 
And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloom 
Sheltered us, 
While your kisses and the flowers, 
Falling, falling, 
Tangled in my hair.... 

The frail white stars moved slowly over the sky. 

And now, far off 
In the fragrant darkness 
The tree is tremulous again with bloom 
For June comes back. 

To-night what girl 
Dreamily before her mirror shakes from her hair 
This year's blossoms, clinging to its coils?

To Oscar Wilde



There was the summer. There 
     Warm hours of leaf-lipped song, 
     And dripping amber sweat. 
     O sweet to see 
The great trees condescend to cast a pearl 
Down to the myrtles; and the proud leaves curl 
     In ecstasy 

Fruit of a quest, despair. 
Smart of a sullen wrong. 
Where may they hide them yet? 
     One hour, yet one, 
To find the mossgod lurking in his nest, 
To see the naiads' floating hair, caressed 
     By fragrant sun- 

Beams. Softly lulled the eves 
The song-tired birds to sleep, 
That other things might tell 
     Their secrecies. 
The beetle humming neath the fallen leaves 
Deep in what hollow do the stern gods keep 
Their bitter silence? By what listening well 
     Where holy trees, 

Song-set, unfurl eternally the sheen 
     Of restless green?

Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer’s smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?

          after Robert Richardson

Warm summer sun,
    Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind,
    Blow softly here.
Green sod above,
    Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart,
    Good night, good night.

In the grey summer garden I shall find you   
With day-break and the morning hills behind you.   
There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;   
And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.   
Not from the past you'll come, but from that deep
Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:   
And I shall know the sense of life re-born   
From dreams into the mystery of morn   
Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing there   
Till that calm song is done, at last we'll share
The league-spread, quiring symphonies that are   
Joy in the world, and peace, and dawn’s one star.