110
IN SUMMER NIGHTS.
Hoarse with the salt sprays, it may be,Of many a mile of rushing sea;Or some high-minded dreamer straysLate through the solitary ways,Nor heeds the listening night, nor me.
Or how or whence those tones be heard,Hearing, the slumbering soul is stirred,As when a swiftly passing lightStartles the shadows into flight;While one remembrance suddenlyThrills through the melting melody,—A strain of music in the night.
Out of the darkness bursts the song,Into the darkness moves along:Only a chord of memory jars,Only an old wound burns its scars,As the wild sweetness of the strainSmites the heart with passionate pain,And vanishes among the stars.
