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night.
VIII.
Stoop low, dear Night, a little star-breeze wakes
The solemn pines.—Child-love doth come and pass,
And when 'tis gone, how beautiful it was
We know. "Thou art like this dear Night, that shakes
Her long hair down, and sits star-throned in lakes
And loving seas," he said—forgive the boy!
"And you are gold-tressed Day, the sun-flower's joy,
Each each pursues—but neither overtakes."
"O dull astronomer, do not these two
Mingle at dawn and even with lovely grace,
Till one for joy dies in the long embrace?"
Experimental science is sole true;
And like those twilights 'mid the arctic snows,
The dusk and fair blent sweet on cheeks and brows.
The solemn pines.—Child-love doth come and pass,
And when 'tis gone, how beautiful it was
We know. "Thou art like this dear Night, that shakes
Her long hair down, and sits star-throned in lakes
And loving seas," he said—forgive the boy!
"And you are gold-tressed Day, the sun-flower's joy,
Each each pursues—but neither overtakes."
"O dull astronomer, do not these two
Mingle at dawn and even with lovely grace,
Till one for joy dies in the long embrace?"
Experimental science is sole true;
And like those twilights 'mid the arctic snows,
The dusk and fair blent sweet on cheeks and brows.
