Annie Matheson (1853–1924)

“And all the air a solemn stillness holds.”

SOFT silence of the summer night

Alive with wistful murmurings,

Enfold me in thy quiet might:

Shake o’er my head thy slumb’rous wings,

So cool and light:

Let me forget all earthly things

In sleep to-night!

Tired roses, passionately sweet,

Are leaning on their cool green leaves,

The mignonette about my feet

A maze of tangled fragrance weaves,

Where dewdrops meet:

Kind sleep the weary world bereaves

Of noise and heat.

White lilies, pure as falling snow,

And redolent of tenderness,

Are gently swaying to and fro,

Lulled by the breath of evening less

Than by the low

Music of sleepy winds, that bless

The buds that grow.

The air is like a mother’s hand

Laid softly on a throbbing brow,

And o’er the darksome, dewy land

The peace of heaven is stealing now,

While, hand in hand,

Young angels tell the flowers how

Their lives are planned.

From yon deep sky the quiet stars

Look down with steadfast eloquence,

And God the prison-door unbars

That held the mute world’s inmost sense

From all the wars

Of day’s loud hurry and turbulence;

And nothing now the silence mars

Of love intense.