Poems (Trask)/Beneath the Moon

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

BENEATH THE MOON.

Under the moon how the still waters gleam!
The silver is over the breast of the stream;
The cream-white lilies droop languidly down,
In fragrance the red roses sleepily drown;
The feathery willow-trees shimmer and shine,
The dew lies in diamonds upon the wild vine;
The asphodel closes its nectarous cup,
The passion-flower folds its rare beauty up;
And the scent of the thyme, and the mint, and the balm,
Floats out on the wings of the infinite calm.

The meadows lie quietly wearing the green,—
The elms to the linden-trees lovingly lean;
The pastures are silent, the flocks are asleep,
The sturdy red oxen beside the white sheep;
No tinkle of cow-bells, no shepherd boy's cry,
The cricket's dull songs on the sweet silence die;
The amber-winged beetles cling fast to the trees,
The golden-green butterflies hide in the leaves;
The bee has flown home with his burden of sweets,
And rests in the twilight from summer noon's heats.

The drowsy old farm-houses hidden away
Under hills, and in valleys, mossy and gray,
Are silent as churchyards,—the spirit of rest
Has stolen upon them and maketh them blest;
And over the shade and the green of "Love's Lane"
The silence intensifies, e'en unto pain.
The west sky wears faintest suggestions of pink,
Like a brook when a red rose stoops over to drink;
The forest spring murmurs a mystical tune,
And its sweet waters sparkle under the moon.

Oh, will the moon shine thus in all coming time,
And earth breathe her vague voices subtly sublime?
The flowers burn with crimson, and purple, and blue,
The red rose be red, and the true heart be true?
Ah! some time in the mystical Future, we know,
We shall all pass away from the light and the glow;
The dew-drops will glitter, like pearls in their beds,
In the damp grass that covers our low-lying heads;
And the robins will sing through the beautiful June,
And the earth lie in love 'neath the beautiful moon.