IN SUMMER NIGHTS.
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All the still dews in hiding lie, With unrobbed richness droops the rose;Nor up nor down the garden walks A slight or stealthy zephyr blows.
Midnight and hush, profoundest peace; The falling leaf forgets to float;When with one deep and mighty throb Along the headland strikes the rote!—
Strikes with the awful undertone Of some great storm's tremendous blast,That far through white mid-seas plows on To scream around a broken mast!
But here the swell shall heave to shore A muffled music, till it seemThe trouble of the sea become Only the burden of a dream!
XIV. OVER AGAIN.
When the poplars patter, You can hear her talk;
