Anne Whitney

1821-1915

 

Stoop low, dear Night, a little star-breeze wakes

by Anne Whitney

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.

Source:

Poems
Copyright 1859
346 & 348 Broadway
D. Appleton & Company
New York
 

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