"Evening at Magnolia Woods" by Frank Walcott Hutt

JUNE, 1887.

Softly a-through these shady, groveland aisles,
Waking the domes cathedral with her song,
In June's bright hours of tranquil dream and smiles,
The maid Simplicity slow strolls along.

Her dreams are dreams poetic, and her life
Is one of perfect innocence and love
In all her walks, wonder and joy are rife,
And all scenes greet her Dryad of the Grove.

The sunlight sifting through the mottled leaves,
The shadows where the graceful fern-plants nod,
The nightingale that sings, the breeze that grieves,
Are all her study, and her teacher, God.

Now ev'ning's shadows dim these glades, and cool
The old, gray paths where Indian romance clings,
And near the banks of yonder moss-rimmed pool,
An oriole the fleeting twilight sings.

Tender the song, it riseth o'er the trees,
And seems to reach and cheer the deep, lone star
While sylvan nymph-fays hush their melodies.
And charmed, list the twilight song afar.

It ceaseth, and the poet of the eve
Flees to his nest in some sweet-perfumed bower ;
And now the sprites his soon departing grieve,
And while away in sobs the evening hour.

Scarcely a zephyr soars above the trees,
And the broad limbs stretch night-embowered arms
O'er the cool mounds, like one invoking peace,
Stilling the echoes of the day's alarms.


List thou, as lullingly and soothingly
Throbs through the pines the distant gasp of waves,
As on some misty shoal or rocky lea,
They whisper to the stars their piteous staves.

The plaintive murmurs of an inland brook
Falling from mossied stone to mossied stone,
Deepen the quiet of the gloomy nook,
And blend harmonious with Ocean's tone.

It is the mother's lengthened, careworn sigh,
As 'long the shore she treads in anxious mood,
Low blending with the infants' trem'lous cry
Within the darksome chambers of the wood.

Thus, thro' the long, cool night the streamlet sings,
Thus, on its dusky shores booms low the sea,
Thus, thro' these dells soft music ever wings,
Amid the haunts of fair Simplicity.