The Poems of Emma Lazarus, Volume 1

A JUNE NIGHT.

     Ten o'clock: the broken moon
       Hangs not yet a half hour high,
         Yellow as a shield of brass,
     In the dewy air of June,
       Poised between the vaulted sky
         And the ocean's liquid glass.

     Earth lies in the shadow still;
       Low black bushes, trees, and lawn
         Night's ambrosial dews absorb;
     Through the foliage creeps a thrill,
       Whispering of yon spectral dawn
         And the hidden climbing orb.

     Higher, higher, gathering light,
       Veiling with a golden gauze
         All the trembling atmosphere,
     See, the rayless disk grows white!
       Hark, the glittering billows pause!

         Faint, far sounds possess the ear.

     Elves on such a night as this
       Spin their rings upon the grass;
         On the beach the water-fay
     Greets her lover with a kiss;
       Through the air swift spirits pass,
         Laugh, caress, and float away.

     Shut thy lids and thou shalt see
       Angel faces wreathed with light,
         Mystic forms long vanished hence.
     Ah, too fine, too rare, they be
       For the grosser mortal sight,
         And they foil our waking sense.

     Yet we feel them floating near,
       Know that we are not alone,
         Though our open eyes behold
     Nothing save the moon's bright sphere,
       In the vacant heavens shown,
         And the ocean's path of gold.