A SUMMER NIGHT

  Summah is de lovin’ time—­
    Do’ keer what you say. 
  Night is allus peart an’ prime,
    Bettah dan de day. 
  Do de day is sweet an’ good,
    Birds a-singin’ fine,
  Pines a-smellin’ in de wood,—­
    But de night is mine.

  Rivah whisperin’ “howdy do,”
    Ez it pass you by—­
  Moon a-lookin’ down at you,
    Winkin’ on de sly. 
  Frogs a-croakin’ f’om de pon’,
    Singin’ bass dey fill,
  An’ you listen way beyon’
    Ol’ man whippo’will.

  Hush up, honey, tek my han’
    Mek yo’ footsteps light;
  Somep’n’ kin’ o’ hol’s de lan’
    On a summah night. 
  Somep’n’ dat you nevah sees
    An’ you nevah hyeahs,
  But you feels it in de breeze,
    Somep’n’ nigh to teahs.

  Somep’n’ nigh to teahs? dat’s so;
    But hit’s nigh to smiles. 
  An’ you feels it ez you go
    Down de shinin’ miles. 
  Tek my han’, my little dove;
    Hush an’ come erway—­
  Summah is de time fu’ love,
    Night-time beats de day!

AT SUNSET TIME

  Adown the west a golden glow
    Sinks burning in the sea,
  And all the dreams of long ago
    Come flooding back to me. 
  The past has writ a story strange
    Upon my aching heart,
  But time has wrought a subtle change,
    My wounds have ceased to smart.

  No more the quick delight of youth,
    No more the sudden pain,
  I look no more for trust or truth
    Where greed may compass gain. 
  What, was it I who bared my heart
    Through unrelenting years,
  And knew the sting of misery’s dart,
    The tang of sorrow’s tears?

  ’Tis better now, I do not weep,
    I do not laugh nor care;
  My soul and spirit half asleep
    Drift aimless everywhere. 
  We float upon a sluggish stream,
    We ride no rapids mad,
  While life is all a tempered dream
    And every joy half sad.

NIGHT

  Silence, and whirling worlds afar
    Through all encircling skies. 
  What floods come o’er the spirit’s bar,
    What wondrous thoughts arise.

  The earth, a mantle falls away,
    And, winged, we leave the sod;
  Where shines in its eternal sway
    The majesty of God.

AT LOAFING-HOLT

  Since I left the city’s heat
  For this sylvan, cool retreat,
  High upon the hill-side here
  Where the air is clean and clear,
  I have lost the urban ways. 
  Mine are calm and tranquil days,
  Sloping lawns of green are mine,
  Clustered treasures of the vine;
  Long forgotten plants I know,
  Where the best wild berries grow,
  Where the greens and grasses sprout,
  When the elders blossom out. 
  Now I am grown weather-wise