NIGHT WHISPERS.
O what a night is this! The glorious stars
With their sweet, solemn gaze, seeming to look
Into our very souls. Gently! it mars
The lovely dream if even a word be spoke,
That comes not like soft music to the ear,
Murmured, and low, and making harmony
With the still music of that higher sphere—
So let no discord break the melody.
This is the hour for soul-communion meet;
For talking of dear loves and holy things;
Of themes that to the spirit are most sweet,
And for the full heart's sweet unburdenings.
I can almost imagine that my heart
Hath grown too holy for a sinful thought;
So much the gentle images that start
From past and present with this hour are fraught.
The past hath memories of the dear dreams
Of early years—of longings after love—
Something to fill the heart, to drink its streams
Of pure and earnest tenderness—inwove
With visions of the future, which were blent
Of hope and trust, the trust of our first years,
Which ne'er returns when once it hath been lent
To a false faith, to be dissolved in tears.
That glowing dream is not yet wholly fled,
But its fair hues have taken a deeper dye;
As the pale light the twilight stars have shed,
