Give me no reasons for squat forms that pass
Lurking at twilight near the ribbon grass.
Only the owl and I our vigil keep,
With, “Who goes there?” While flower kingdoms sleep.
No 5—Rendezvous
Like a sea-flower, seen through waves of night,
She spreads illumined petals, and her white
Mystical raying disk spills frankincense
From her stored sweet and balmy opulence.
Perfume of honey-flowers and purpled vines,
Odors of Eastern wood and Tuscan wines,
Sweetness compressed, smell of all blossoms blent,
Breath of all lilies in one lily’s scent.
What secret doth she hold? What visions stir
At the slow calm awakening of her?
Lo! To the night is all her beauty spread,
And to the encircling dark she leans her head.
Then, who can tell what fragrant message strays
O’er dreaming trees and sleeping, leafy ways?
To what green tent her sighing languors steal?
What thrilled suspense of waiting she doth feel?
Till—Soft! A Spirit of dim-waving wings
Floats from his moonlit forest wanderings,
And by enchantment led, there plights his troth
To the night’s Queen, a dew-crowned, milk-white Moth.
Now, while the garden drowses, and the cool
Of passing midnight deepens in the pool,
While all the flowers hang their heads, asleep—
Mysterious tryst two royal lovers keep.
The world rolls on; its load of hearts grown old;
And all the simple forms and feasts are cold.
But though men mock Love’s slowly fading wraith,
The Forest knows,—the flowers keep their Faith.