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 quivering 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 these tremulous heavens or thine.
Pulsing with stars half seen, and vague in a pallid shine.
Vague as a dream.
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