Poetry Archives

I feel the breath of the summer night,
    Aromatic fire:
The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir
    With tender desire.

The white moths flutter about the lamp,
    Enamoured with light;
And a thousand creatures softly sing
    A song to the night!

But I am alone, and how can I sing
    Praises to thee?
Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul
    That waiteth for me.