Classic Poem

In that soft twilight change of summer eves
From rosy bloom to darkness cool and still,
Sweet from some dusky haunt among the leaves
Thy voice is heard by lonely field or hill,
Chanting thy low, impassioned vesper hymn,
Clear as the silver treble of a stream
Round mossy isles in woodland valleys dim.
There have I hearkened, as one in a dream
Lies smiling, while some dear form bent above
Taps at the muffled portals of the brain
With gentle touch and murmured words of love
Until the heart stirs with a tender pain;
While the wrapt senses soothed in slumbrous balm
Sink down still deeper in delicious calm.