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RICHARD FOREST'S MIDSUMMER NIGHT.
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I.
The sun is setting in pale lucid gold,
From out that strange sweet green
The heavens through half their lucid breadth unfold,
Unfathomably serene.
The sun is setting in pale lucid gold,
From out that strange sweet green
The heavens through half their lucid breadth unfold,
Unfathomably serene.
The moon is risen, formless, vague and wan,
Until the glory wane;
Less moon as yet than thin white cloud, whereon
Young yearning eyes fix fain.
Until the glory wane;
Less moon as yet than thin white cloud, whereon
Young yearning eyes fix fain.
The splendour ripples on the broad calm bay
Where still some white sails gleam
Like sea-birds in the offing far away,
Suspended as in dream.
Where still some white sails gleam
Like sea-birds in the offing far away,
Suspended as in dream.
The wavelets whisper on the soft sands wide,
Soothing their thread of foam,
The silver fringe of the advancing tide,
Nearer and nearer home.
Soothing their thread of foam,
The silver fringe of the advancing tide,
Nearer and nearer home.
