Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/451

And the slumberous night grows late. The midnight hush is deep. Under the pines I wait For the moon; and the pine trees weep Great drops of dew, that fall Like footsteps here and there, And they sadly whisper and call To each other high in the air. They rustle and whisper like ghosts, They sigh like souls in pain, Like the movement of stealthy hosts They surge, and are silent again. The midnight hush is deep, But the pines the spirits distrest They move in somnambulant sleep They whisper and are not at rest. Lo! a light in the East opalescent Softly suffuses the sky Where flocculent clouds are quiescent, Where like froth of the ocean they lie Like foam on the beach they crimple Where the wave has spent its swirl, Like the curve of a shell they dimple Into iridescent pearl. And the light grows brighter and higher Till far through the trees I see The rim of a globe of fire That rolls through the darkness to me,