Richard Forest's Midsummer Night

I.
The sun is setting in pale lucid gold,
From out that strange sweet green
The heavens through half their lucid breadth unfold,
Unfathomably serene.
The moon is risen, formless, vague and wan,
Until the glory wane ;
Less moon as yet than thin white cloud, whereon
Young yearning eyes fix fain.

The splendour ripples on the broad calm bay
Where still some white sails gleam
Like sea-birds in the offing far away,
Suspended as in dream.

The wavelets whisper on the soft sands wide,
Soothing their thread of foam,
The silver fringe of the advancing tide,
Nearer and nearer home.

The hammers ringing on the building ships
Are ceasing from their chime ;
Our toils are closing in this sweet eclipse
Of tranquil vesper-time.

O day slow-dying in the golden west,
O far flushed clouds above,
O slowly rising moon, your infinite rest
Brings infinite longing love.

II.
But what come forth with the dark,
With the dusk of the eve and the night ?
When the lessening sails of that single barque
Shall be wholly lost to sight,
And the latest song of the latest lark
Shall be mute in the mute moonlight.

All the stars come forth on high
Like spirits that cast their shrouds,
And the solemn depths of the darkening sky
Are filled with their radiant crowds,
And Hesper, lovely as Love's own eye,
Shines beneath purple clouds ;

And the maidens and youths on earth,
On the shores of the sands and the piers,
Like a sudden bountiful beautiful birth,
In the flower of their happy years,
With babble and laughter and musical mirth
Under the silent spheres.

With the silent stars above,
And the maidens and youths below
With their murmurs sweeter than voice of the dove,
By the calm sea's plash and flow,
All the soft warm air breathes bliss and love
In the sunset's after-glow.

For the burning hours are past,
And the toils of the day are done,
And the peace of the night is come at last,
And the moon succeeds the sun ;
And the pulses of Heaven and Earth throb fast,
All the thousands throbbing as one.

III.
Oh, a myriad stars may shine,
But ever the one sole Moon,
The Queen of the stars and the night divine,
The Queen most fair and boon,
For her mystical shine is Love's best wine,
And her midnight Love's own noon.

I have heard that the smallest star
Is a much more mighty sphere,
Than the regnant moon in her silver car
That we love and worship here ;
But behold, the star it is faint and far,
While our moon is bright and near.

Let the star in its distant skies
Burn glorious and great,
A sun of life to the far-off eyes
In the planets that swell its state ;
But it sways not the tides of our seas as it rides,
Nor the tides of our human fate.

So, there on the shining sand,
And there on the long curved pier,
Fair ladies circle fulgent and grand,
Each in her proper sphere ;
But the sun so far is a little star,
While my Love is near and dear :

Is near and dear and bright,
The Queen of my Heavens above,
The pure sweet light of my darkest night,
My Lotus, my Lily, my Dove ;
And my pulses flow and thrill and glow
In the sway of Her splendid love.

IV.
Farewell, fair margent of the sea,
Fair city of the noble bay ;
I seek my Love who looks for me,
Not far away, not far away,
Over the hill of wood and lea,
And near that other bay adown
The winding valley lone and lown.

The valley with its tethered kine,
The orchard plots and fields of grain,
So tranquil in the broad sunshine,
More tranquil now the high stars reign,
And tranquil most and most divine
When over it comes floating soon
The mystic splendour of the moon.

The cottage nestles sheltered well
Among rich apple-trees, embowered
In its side-nook of dimpled dell ;
Roses and jasmine starry-flowered
Clothe all its front ; the tide's long swell
Sounds up the valley slow and calm,
To ebb away a dying psalm.

Through clouds of delicate blossom white
The red tiles burn with steadfast glow,
Or through green leaves and apples bright
And hoary stems a-slanting low,
When morning crowns the eastern height ;
The blue smoke quivering up the air
Its slender breath of household prayer ;
The sweet flowers flush and glow and yearn,
With wild bees humming in their bloom,
The lane comes winding like a burn
Through banks of golden gorse and broom,
And edged with grass and fringed with fern ;
The rapturous larks are singing high
In all the regions of the sky.

But that is day, these days of June
A-verging into hot July,
And this is night, more rich and boon,
Although its hours so swiftly fly :
O light of lovers, gracious moon,
My own Moon waits me full of love,
Brighter than all heaven's stars above.

V.
Ere the road curves up through the shade
With its transverse moonlight bars,
While above in the leafy gloom of the glade
Hang the glittering fruits of the stars ;
Let me pause for a moment and turn and look down
Beyond all the villa clumps duskily brown,
And beyond all the pale yellow lamps of the town ;

To the sea and the noble bay
Lulled asleep in the broad moonshine ;
To the shore where our youths and our maidens stray
On the sands and the pier's long line,
Like a swarm of bees that suspend their flight
To gather the honey of love and delight
In the heart of the azure-leaved Flower of the Night.

Like a swarm of buzzing bees
Whose busy murmurs float
On the wide-wafting wings of the southerly breeze,
They are drunk with the honey of love and of bliss,
And they throb with the stars of the azure abyss,
And the air is as soft as a tremulous kiss.

I shall find Her all alone
At the wicket of garden and lane,
Or out of the porch by the rose o'ergrown
She will glide all flushed and fain :
So gather your honey, you bees that swarm,
I drink-in my nectar all golden and warm
From a flower-cup the fairest in colour and form.

VI.
Do I love you more for your own grand sake,
Or more for the bliss you bring to me ?
You big black arms of the elms that make
The little white arms cling to me.

Do I love you more for your own sweet sake,
Or more for my heart's desire to me ?
You flowers of the night whose perfumes make
The sweetest breath suspire to me.

Do I love you more for your own dear sake,
Or more for the joys that rill through me ?
You nightingales whose voices make
The dearest soft voice thrill through me.

Do I love you more for your own bright sake,
Or more for the joys that stream on me ?
You stars of the heaven whose glances make
The brightest moist eyes beam on me.

Do I love you more for your own dear sake,
Or more for the bliss possessing me ?
You whispering waves of the sea that make
The dear lips mute caressing me.

Do I love you more for your own pure sake,
Or more for the Heavens you declare to me ?
You naked moon, whose splendours make
The soul of her pure love bare to me.

Oh, I love you all for your own love's sake,
And my love of my Love and her love to me,
Dear earth and sea and heavens that make
This life as the life above to me.

VII.
She is not there at the rustic gate,
Nor in the garden, nor in the porch :
Lucy ! the hour is not yet late,
The moon, our this night's signal torch,
The beacon-fire of our hearts' desire,
Over the wooded promontory
Shines on our bay in all her glory.

Good Father nods in his old arm-chair,
A-dozing over his evening pipe,
The old brown jug at his elbow there
Half-full of the old ale humming-ripe ;
For his work is done with the set o' the sun,
And he settles down content and placid,
Sweetness without one drop of acid.

And our little Mother upright sits,
Under her glasses glancing keen
And listening sharp as she knits and knits ;
Nothing unheard, nothing unseen ;
Her work is not done with the set o' the sun,
And she never nods and she never dozes
Until her head in the bed reposes.

Or else the dear old couple play
Some game they have played this thirty year ; !
Cribbage, — and how she pegs away !
Perhaps Don Pedro when I appear,
And Lucy and I must join and try
Which shall prove the more prompt and able,
Or youth or eld at the old oak-table.

But Lucy, Lucy, where is She ?
Not in the garden, not at the gate,
Not in the porch a-looking for me,
Not at the parlour-lattice in wait !
Can she sew or read and take no heed
How the stars are bright and the moon is shining,
And I am without here longing and pining ?

O Lucy, Lucy ! can you dream
O'er the loves in a book with your own Love near ? —
Out from the back-shade darts a gleam ;
Lucy is here ! Lucy is here !
Dancing light in her eyes of a wicked surprise,
White rose in her hair, red rose in her fingers,
How she hastens ! — and how she lingers !

Oh, the smile of your mouth ! — but I want my own kiss !
Oh, the flush of your face ! — but your head on my breast !
Oh, the rose in your yellow hair fragrant with bliss !
Oh, the rose in your hand by my own hand caressed !
O dear form I enlace in this perfect embrace,
My Love all a-tremble with passion and yearning,
While under my kisses the pure neck is burning !

VIII.
Oh, how the nights are short,
These heavenly nights of June !
The long day all amort
With toil, the time to court
So stinted in its boon !

In winter brief work-days,
Long rest-nights dark and cold,
Dank mists and miry ways,
Black boughs and leafless sprays,
No sweet birds singing bold.

I find this order strange,
And not at all the right ;
Not thus would I arrange :
May I propose a change
In seasons, day and night ?

Cold days, warm nights, be long,
Cold nights, warm days, be brief :
Warm nights of scent and song,
Nights long as love is strong, —
Oh, Love should have relief!

Yet some days we would spare,
Long days of love and rest,
So long, so rich, so rare,
When but to breathe the air
Is to be fully blest.

When deep in fern we lie
With golden gorse above ;
Deep sapphire sea and sky,
Ringing of larks on high,
Our whole world breathing love.

Long days of perfect rest !
Long days of infinite bliss !
Your head upon my breast ;
Possessing and possessed,
Dissolving in a kiss.

IX.
Oh, how the nights are short,
These heavenly nights of June !
The long hot day amort
With toil, the time to court
So stinted in its boon !

But three or four brief hours
Between the afterglow
And dawnlight ; while the flowers
Are dreaming in their bowers,
And birds their song forego ;

And in the noon of night,
As in the noon of day,
, Flowers close on their delight,
Birds nestle from their flight,
Deep stillness holdeth sway :

Only the nightingales
Yet sing to moon and stars,
Although their full song fails ;
The corn-crake never quails,
But through the silence jars.

So few brief hours of peace ;
And only one for us,
Alone, in toil's surcease,
To feed on love's increase :
It is too cruel thus !

Did little Mother chide
Because our sewing dropped
And we sat dreamy-eyed ?
Dear Mother, good betide,
The scolding must be stopped.

Dear Mother, good and true,
All-loving while you blame,
When spring brings skies of blue
And buds and flowers anew,
I come in with my claim !

I claim my Love, my Own,
Yet ever yours the while,
Under whose care hath grown
The sweetest blossom blown
In all our flower-loved isle.

The Spring renews its youth
And youth renews its Spring :
Love's wildest dreams are truth,
Magic is sober sooth ;
Charm of the Magic Ring !

X.
As we gaze and gaze on the sleeping sea
Beneath the moon's soft splendour,
The wide expanse inspires a trance
Most solemn and most tender.

The heavens all silent with their stars,
The sweet air hardly breathing,
The liquid light of ripples bright
Wreathing and interwreathing.

The tide self-poised now at the full,
Scarce swaying, almost soundless ;
The sea between twin skies serene,
Calm, fathomless and boundless.

What specks are we in this vast world,
Our little lives how fleeting !
While star on star is throbbing far,
What matter two hearts beating?

How many many million years
Those living lights supernal
Shone ere our birth on this small earth !
Yet they are not eternal.

How many many million years,
When we have passed death's portal,
Those stars shall shine as now divine !
Yet they are not immortal.

Deep as may be the deepest sea,
Yet deeper is our love, dear ;
Our souls dilate with bliss as great
As all the heavens above, dear.

We float in dream until we seem
With all these worlds revolving ;
Our love intense, our bliss immense,
Throughout the whole dissolving.

A calm profound and infinite
Within us as without us ;
Our pulses beat in union sweet
With all the Life about us.

We are the whole World yet ourself
By some divine illusion ;
The I in Thee and Thou in Me
By mystic interfusion.

Our soul-tides poising at the full,
Scarce swaying, tranced in glory,
Have reached the clime of timeless time
Amid the transitory.

We have not spoken now so long,
But mute in still caressing,
Without one kiss have breathed the bliss
Too perfect for expressing.

XI.
Good night ; good night ! how truly hath been sung,
It is good night then only when the tongue
Need never say Good night ;
When hearts may beat together till the morrow
Dawns on long hours fulfilled of bliss not sorrow,
And eyes that close for darkness, frayed and stung
By the so less sweet light

Good night ; good night ! I leave you to sweet sleep
And lovely dreams of love divinely deep ;
May this be your good night :
My straining arms reluctantly surrender
Into the arms of sleep divinely tender
My Dearest thus, to safely surely keep
Until the morn shines bright.

Good night ; good night ! I leave you and go back
Into the silent city ; and, alack !
Can this be my good night ?
Yet Love, Bliss, Memory, radiant Hope are burning
In brain all throbbing and in heart all yearning,
As moon and stars in skies that else were black
With glorifying might.

Good night ; good night ! If parting when so brief
Is yet so bitter, what would be our grief
With Good-bye for Good night ! —
Farewell ! for weeks, for months, for years, for ever !
Alas for Lovers whom the Fates thus sever !
Where can they look for comfort or relief?
Oh, worse than mortal blight !

Good night ; good night ! for more than twenty hours !
The sleeping time of all the birds and flowers,
For whom it is good night ;
The waking time of all the sun's wide glory :
Ere yet the moon has crowned yon promontory
To-morrow evening, back to Eden's bowers
I come with swerveless flight

Good night ; good night ! my Life, my Love, my Bliss!
But one more last embrace, one more last kiss,
To sweeten sour Good night :
O dear Heavens, have her in your holy keeping !
O moon and stars, watch tenderly her sleeping !
O sun, thou regent of our World-abyss,
Awake her to delight !