New-York tribune., 1885-03-23
ONE MIDSUMMER'S EYE.
ConrriahL. 1885.


Midsummer eve. and had liD>cred late
With her, my love, so soon to be my wife;
And still we fingered at the garden gaze,
Hearing around the unseen subtle NE ~
OF things that love the summer and the night.
At length we parted, and the moons clear nghD
Fell on her face, SO pale, SO passionate.
could not sleep that night for thought Of her;
SO near the house loiteTed lovingly,
And wondered if she would her sleep defer
By some sweet tender lOve-thought even OF me.
seemed almost to feel on mine her palm.
Once more to know the rapture and the calm
That perfect love alone can minister.
The nightingaIes seemed singing everywhere.
The plaintIve, urgent music, how II stole
Along bright reaches of the moOnlit air
Until 1t sank into my very soul;
Within their song a new sweet might heard
They sang, Love, love-; that one sweet mystic
word,
And my heart answered and my thought was prayer.
And while tarried in the moonlit grove,
Heart brimmed with love, the strangest thing took
place:
The garden gate moved back. aud she, my love.
The moonlight falling on her dress and face,
Came ont ana passed away with noiseless tread.
Unseen started back, but no word SAID.
Then followed where saw her slim shape moVe'
Der dew-drepched, moonlit fields her slow feet
It seemed to me the white moon did protest.
My love held on her way. followed fast'
A horror and a wonder at my breast: ...
almost seemed to hear my own heart beat:
When would she pause, and what thing should we
meetf - =, 20
Then the fields ended, and she crossed road,
And went between tall trees until she stood
NV God she stood In front Of his abode,
The man who bad no pity on wonanhood,
The sweet languId shame ful shameless, lying man,
Triunphlng often as such devils can
Sinner of sins not punishable by code.
knew that night my hate must have its Will
NV Lowell she waited in the moons white rayj
felt subtle terror through me thrill;
stroye to speak, but no word could say.
drew quite close to her, and looked, and there,
With eyes that in the moonlight seemed aglare,
Right in her path he lay, forever STILL
No more forever villany to plot,
Gone far away where no men laugh or weep.
whispered to my love, she answered not
And then saw she seemed as in strange sleep.
His was the mesmeTists mute potent spell
That drew to HIM even wills that did rebel,
Drew her, though still resisting, TO tbs spot.
led her back. and strange it was to me,
That walk with her, my lovely silent love.
The moonlight fell upon her tenderly,
And almost like ghost she seemed TO move.
But Just before she reached the house she stayed,
And both white hands against her forehead laid,
Then moved her eyes as one who strives to see.
Then sight came back and with it tears that saved,
And then she told me how the man dead
Had sought her love, and being spurned had raved,
And sworn TO snare her yet, "as birds" he said,
"Werc shared in nets by men," She told me not,
Lest i'll should como of it, mems blood being hot.
And scorned too much the peril that she braved.
He had looked for her. but death instead had found
Who whispered with white, sudden lips "Departp
Ten years since then, and still we hear the sound
OF nightingales, each singing out his heart,
It's palpitating heart, against the night
The same sweet urgent music, the same light,
And the same love- but only moro profound.
PHILIP BoURKE MARsTON