THE NIGHTS.
Oh, the Summer night
Has a smile of light
And she sits on a sapphire throne;
Whilst the sweet winds load her
With garlands of odor,
From the bud to the rose o'erblown!
But the Autumn night
Has a piercing sight,
And a step both strong and free;
And a voice for wonder,
Like the wrath of the thunder,
When he shouts to the stormy sea!
And the Winter night
Is all cold and white,
And she singeth a song of pain;
Till the wild bee hummeth,
And the warm spring cometh,
When she dies in a dream of rain!
—Adelaide Proctor.