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The Old Soldier’s Story

by James Whitcomb Riley

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My Night

Hush! hush! list, heart of mine, and hearken low!
  You do not guess how tender is the Night,
  And in what faintest murmurs of delight
Her deep, dim-throated utterances flow
Across the memories of long-ago!
  Hark! do your senses catch the exquisite
  Staccatos of a bird that dreams he sings?
Nay, then, you hear not rightly,—’tis a blur
  Of misty love-notes, laughs and whisperings
The Night pours o’er the lips that fondle her,
  And that faint breeze, filled with all fragrant sighs,—
  That is her breath that quavers lover-wise—
O blessed sweetheart, with thy swart, sweet kiss,
Baptize me, drown me in black swirls of bliss!

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