soul to God-- As simply as a saint might bathe in lakes of prayer-- Stood with the holy moonlight falling on you there Until I thought that in a glory unaware I had seen a soul stand forth and bare itself to God-- A saintly soul lay bare its innocence to God. 

JUNE NIGHT IN WASHINGTON.

 The scent of honeysuckle, Drugging the twilight With its sweet opiate of lovers' dreams! The last red glow of the setting sun On the red brick wall Of the neighboring house, And the scramble of red roses over it! 

 Slowly, slowly The night smokes up from the city to the stars, The faint foreshadowed stars; The smouldering night Breathes upward like the breath Of a woman asleep With dim breast rising and falling And a smile of delicate dreams. 

  Softly, softly The wind comes into the garden, Like a lover that fears lest he waken his love, And his hands drip with the scent of the roses And his locks weep with the opiate odor of honeysuckle. Sighing, sighing As a lover that yearns for the lips of his love, In a torment of bliss, In a passionate dreaming of bliss, The wind in the trees of the garden! 

 How intimate are the trees,-- Rustling like the secret darkness of the soul! How still is the starlight,-- Aloof in the placidity of dream! 

 Outside the garden A group of negroes passing in the street Sing with ripe lush voices, Sing with voices that swim Like great slow gliding fishes Through the scent of the honeysuckle: 

 My love's waitin', Waitin' by the river, Waitin' till I come along! Wait there, child; I'm comin'. 

 Jay-bird tol' me, Tol' me in the mornin', Tol' me she'd be there to-night. Wait there, child; I'm comin'. 

 Waves of dream! Spell of the summer night! Will of the grass that stirs in its sleep! Desire of the honeysuckle! And further away, Like the plash of far-off waves in the fluid night, The negroes, singing: 

 Whip-po'-will tol' me, Tol' me in the evenin', "Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow." Wait there, child; I'm comin'. 

 Lo, the moon, Like a galleon sailing the night; And the wash of the moonlight over the roofs and the trees! 

 Oh, my bride, Come down from yonder lattice where you bide Like a charmed princess in a Persian song! I look up at your yellow window-panes, 

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