A tranquil bar Of rosy twilight under dusk’s first star. A glimmering sound Of whispering waters over grassy ground. A sun-sweet smell Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell. A lazy breeze Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees. A vibrant cry, Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky. And faintly now The katydid upon the shadowy bough. And far-off then The little owl within the lonely glen. And soon, full soon, The silvery arrival of the moon. And, to your door, The path of roses I have trod before. And, sweetheart, you! Among the roses and the moonlit dew.
No posts