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?
This poem is in the public domain.
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?
This poem is in the public domain.
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?
This poem is in the public domain.
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.
This poem is in the public domain.
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.
This poem is in the public domain.