Florentine May

Still, still is the Night; still as the pause after pain;
Still and as dear;
Deep, solemn, immense; veiling the stars in the clear
Thrilling and luminous blue of the moon — shot
atmosphere;
Ah, could the Night remain!
Who, truly, shall say thou art sullen or dark or
unseen,
Thou, O heavenly Night,
Clear o'er the valley of olives asleep in the quiver
ing light,

Clear o'er the pale-red hedge of the rose, and the
lilies all white
Down at my feet in the green?
Nay, not as the Day, thou art light, O Night, with a
beam
Far more dear and divine;
Never the noon was blue as the tremulous heavens
of thine,
Pulsing with stars half seen, and vague in a pallid
shrine,
Vague as a dream.

Night,clear with the moon, filled with the dreamy fire
Shining in thicket and close,
Fire from the lamp in his breast that the luminous
fire-fly throws;
Night, full of wandering light and the song, and the
blossoming rose,
Night, be thou my desire!
Night, Angel of Night, hold me and cover me so —
Open thy wings!
Ah, bend above and embrace! — till I hear in the one
bird that sings

The throb of thy musical heart in the dusk, and the
magical things
Only the Night can know.