In the Still, Star-Lit Night

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

     In the still, star-lit night,
By the full fountain and the willow-tree,
     I walked, and not alone—
A spirit walked with me!

     A shade fell on the grass;
Upon the water fell a deeper shade:
     Something the willow stirred,
For to and fro it swayed.

   The grass was in a quiver,
The water trembled, and the willow-tree
     Sighed softly; I sighed loud—
The spirit taunted me.

     All the night long I walked
By the full fountain, dropping icy tears;
     I tore the willow leaves,
I tore the long, green spears!

     I clutched the quaking grass,
And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree;
     I shook the wreathèd boughs,
To make the spirit flee.

     It haunted me till dawn,
By the full fountain and the willow-tree;
     For with myself I walked—
How could the spirit flee?

This poem appeared in Poems (Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1895). It is in the public domain.

A Summer Night

I feel the breath of the summer night,
            Aromatic fire:
The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir
            With tender desire.

The white moths flutter about the lamp,
            Enamoured with light;
And a thousand creates softly sing
            A song to the night!

But I am alone, and how can I sing
            Praises to thee?
Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul
            That waiteth for me.

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

2017

A Baby Song

Come, white angels, to baby and me;
     Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep,
     In his surprise he will cease to weep;
Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee!

Come, white doves, to baby and me;
     Softly whirr in the silent air,
     Flutter about his golden hair:
Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee!

Come, white lilies, to baby and me;
     Drowsily nod before his eyes,
     So full of wonder, so round and wise:
Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee!

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

2017

Autumn

No melancholy days are these!
     Not where the maple changing stands,
Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,
            Nor in the bands

Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,
     Scarlet and yellow, green and brown,
Falling, or swinging on their stalks,
            Is Sorrow’s crown.

The sparkling fields of dewy grass,
     Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers,
Starred asters and the goldenrod,
            Date Autumn’s hours.

The shining banks of snowy clouds,

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

2017

Poems

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In the Still, Star-Lit Night

More by this poet

A Summer Night

A Baby Song

Autumn

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