JUNE
NIGHT IN WASHINGTON
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THE
scent of honeysuckle,
Drugging the twilight
With its sweet opiate of lovers’ dreams!
The last red glow of the setting sun
On the red brick wall |
5 |
Of the
neighboring house,
And the scramble of red roses over it!
Slowly, slowly
The night smokes up from the city to the stars,
The faint foreshadowed stars;
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10 |
The
smouldering night
Breathes upward like the breath
Of a woman asleep
With dim breasts rising and falling
And a smile of delicate dreams. |
15 |
Softly, softly
The wind comes into the garden,
Like a lover that fears lest he waken his love,
And his hands drip with the scent of the roses
And his locks weep with the opiate odor of honeysuckle. |
20 |
Sighing,
sighing
As a lover that yearns for the lips of his love,
In a torment of bliss,
In a passionate dreaming of bliss,
The wind in the trees of the garden! |
25 |
How intimate are the trees,—
Rustling like the secret darkness of the soul!
How still is the starlight,—
Aloof in the placidity of dream!
Outside the garden
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30 |
A group
of negroes passing in the street
Sing with ripe lush voices,
Sing with voices that swim
Like great slow gliding fishes
Through the scent of the honeysuckle: |
35 |
My love’s waitin’,
Waitin’ by the river,
Waitin’ till I come along!
Wait there, child; I’m comin’.
Jay-bird tol’ me,
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40 |
Tol’
me in the mornin’,
Tol’ me she’d be there to-night.
Wait there, child; I’m comin’.
Waves of dream!
Spell of the summer night!
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45 |
Will
of the grass that stirs in its sleep!
Desire of the honeysuckle!
And further away,
Like the plash of far-off waves in the fluid night,
The negroes, singing: |
50 |
Whip-po’-will tol’ me,
Tol’ me in the evenin’,
"Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow."
Wait there, child; I’m comin’.
Lo, the moon,
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55 |
Like
a galleon sailing the night;
And the wash of the moonlight over the roofs and
the trees!
Oh, my bride,
Come down from yonder lattice where you bide
Like a charmed princess in a Persian song!
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60 |
I look
up at your yellow window-panes
Set in the night with far-off wizardry.
Come down, come down; the night is fain of you,
The garden waits your footstep on its walks.
Lo, the moon,
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65 |
Like
a galleon sailing the night;
And the wash of the moonlight over the red brick
wall and the roses!
A gleam of lamplight through an open door!
A footfall like the wind’s upon the grass!
A rustle like the wind’s among the leaves!
. . .
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70 |
Dim
as a dream of pale peach blooms of light,
Blue in the blue soft pallor of the moon,
She comes between the trees as a faint tune
Falls from a flute far off into the night. . . .
So Death might come to one who knew him Love. |
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