On yonder hills soft twilight dwells And Hesper burns where sunset dies, Moist and chill the woodland smells From the fern-covered hollows uprise;
Darkness drops not from the skies, But shadows of darkness are flung o'er the vale From the boughs of the chestnut, the oak, and the elm, While night in yon lines of eastern pines
Preserves alone her inviolate realm Against the twilight pale. Say, then say, what is this day, That it lingers thus with half-closed eyes,
When the sunset is quenched and the orient ray Of the roseate moon doth rise, Like a midnight sun o'er the skies! ‘ Tis the longest, the longest of all the glad year,
The longest in life and the fairest in hue, When day and night, in bridal light, Mingle their beings beneath the sweet blue, And bless the balmy air!
Upward to this starry height The culminating seasons rolled; On one slope green with spring delight, The other with harvest gold,
And treasures of Autumn untold: And on this highest throne of the midsummer now The waning but deathless day doth dream, With a rapturous grace, as tho’ from the face
Of the unveiled infinity, lo, a far beam Had fall'n on her dim-flushed brow! Prolong, prolong that tide of song, O leafy nightingale and thrush!
Still, earnest-throated blackcap, throng The woods with that emulous gush Of notes in tumultuous rush. Ye summer souls, raise up one voice!
A charm is afloat all over the land; The ripe year doth fall to the Spirit of all, Who blesses it with outstretched hand; Ye summer souls, rejoice!
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