Midnight in Camp
Night in the unslumbering forest! From the free,
Vast pinelands by the foot of man untrod,
Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicingly
This wilderness of God;
And the tall firs that all day long have flung
Balsamic odors where the sunshine burned,
Chant to its harping primal epics learned
When this old world was young.
Beyond the lake, white, girdling peaks uplift
Untroubled brows to virgin skies afar,
And o’er the uncertain water glimmers drift
Of fitful cloud and star.
Sure never day such mystic beauty held
As sylvan midnight here in this surcease
Of toil, when the kind darkness gives us peace
Garnered from years of eld.
Lo! Hearken to the mountain waterfall
Laughing adown its pathway to the glen
And nearer, in the cedars, the low call
Of brook to brook again;
Voices that garish daytime may not know
Wander at will along the bosky steeps,
And silent, silver-footed moonlight creeps
Through the dim glades below.
Oh, it is well to waken with the woods
And feel, as those who wait with God alone,
The forest’s heart in these rare solitudes
Beating against our own.
Close-shut behind us are the gates of care,
Divinity enfolds us, prone to bless,
And our souls kneel. Night in the wilderness
Is one great prayer.
Related poetry:
- Spring Song Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth. In the dreamy vale of beeches Fair and faint is woven mist, And the river’s orient reaches Are the palest amethyst. Every limpid brook is singing Of the lure of April […]...
- The Rovers Over the fields we go, through the sweets of the purple clover, That letters a message for us as for every vagrant rover; Before us the dells are abloom, and a leaping brook calls after, Feeling its kinship with us in lore of dreams and laughter. Out of the valleys of moonlight elfin voices are […]...
- Round About Midnight Jazz radio on a midnight kick, Round about Midnight. Sitting on the bed, With a jazz type chick Round about Midnight, Piano laughter, in my ears, Round about Midnight. Stirring up laughter, dying tears, Round about Midnight. Soft blue voices, muted grins, Excited voices, Father’s sins, Round about Midnight. Come on baby, take off your […]...
- A Clear Midnight THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best. Night, sleep, and the stars....
- Nearer, my God, to Thee Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! E’en though it be a cross That raiseth me: Still all my song shall be Nearer, my God! to Thee, Nearer to Thee. Though, like the wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone; Yet in my dreams I’d be Nearer, my […]...
- The Water Nymphs They hide in the brook when I seek to draw nearer, Laughing amain when I feign to depart; Often I hear them, now faint and now clearer- Innocent bold or so sweetly discreet. Are they Nymphs of the Stream at their playing Or but the brook I mistook for a voice? Little care I; for, […]...
- The Song Of The Camp-Fire Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I am red-tongued with desire; Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar, gummy fagots of the pine, Heap them on me, let me hug them to my eager heart of fire, Roaring, soaring up to heaven as a symbol and a sign. Bring me knots of sunny maple, silver […]...
- A Sight in Camp A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital tent, Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended lying, Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen […]...
- Cholera Camp We’ve got the cholerer in camp it’s worse than forty fights; We’re dyin’ in the wilderness the same as Isrulites; It’s before us, an’ be’ind us, an’ we cannot get away, An’ the doctor’s just reported we’ve ten more to-day! Oh, strike your camp an’ go, the Bugle’s callin’, The Rains are fallin’ The dead […]...
- The Gardener LXXV: At Midnight At midnight the would-be ascetic Announced: “This is the time to give up my Home and seek for God. Ah, who has Held me so long in delusion here?” God whispered, “I,” but the ears Of the man were stopped. With a baby asleep at her breast Lay his wife, peacefully sleeping on One side […]...
- Should You Ask At Midnight What would I do without your voice to wake me? Cor ad cor loquitur, I’m loath to know. Kitsch operas sound, unhesitant to shake me, The sheers undrawn, the heavens hardly showing, My camisole askew, of lace-trimmed black – Not red, not white; not passionate or pure. I raise the volume, and the voices crack- […]...
- The Everlasting Voices O sweet everlasting Voices, be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the […]...
- A Winter Day I The air is silent save where stirs A bugling breeze among the firs; The virgin world in white array Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; All heaven blooms rarely in the east Where skies are silvery and fleeced, And o’er the orient hills made glad The morning comes in wonder clad; Oh, ’tis […]...
- Because my Brook is fluent Because my Brook is fluent I know ’tis dry Because my Brook is silent It is the Sea And startled at its rising I try to flee To where the Strong assure me Is “no more Sea”...
- 273. Song-Tam Glen MY heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len’, To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tam Glen! There’s […]...
- Barbury Camp We burrowed night and day with tools of lead, Heaped the bank up and cast it in a ring And hurled the earth above. And Caesar said, “Why, it is excellent. I like the thing.” We, who are dead, Made it, and wrought, and Caesar liked the thing. And here we strove, and here we […]...
- The Duties of an Aide-de-camp Oh, some folk think vice-royalty is festive and hilarious, The duties of an A. D. C. are manifold and various, So listen, whilst I tell in song The duties of an aide-de-cong. Whatsoever betide To the Governor’s side We must stick or the public would eat him For each bounder we see Says, “Just introduce […]...
- Midnight Mass for the Dying Year Yes, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely, sorely! The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow; Caw! caw! the rooks are calling, It is a sound of woe, A sound of woe! Through woods and […]...
- Frost At Midnight The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry Came loud, – and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. ‘Tis calm indeed! so calm, […]...
- THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT Loud he sang the psalm of David! He, a Negro and enslaved, Sang of Israel’s victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. In that hour, when night is calmest, Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, In a voice so sweet and clear That I could not choose but hear, Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, Such […]...
- In Midnight Sleep 1 IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish, Of the look at first of the mortally wounded-of that indescribable look; Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream. 2 Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains; Of skies, so beauteous after a storm-and at night […]...
- The Bonnie Sidlaw Hills Bonnie Clara, will you go to the bonnie Sidlaw hills And pu’ the blooming heather, and drink from their rills? There the cranberries among the heather grow, Believe me, dear Clara, as black as the crow. Chorus Then, bonnie Clara, will you go And wander with me to and fro? And with joy our hearts […]...
- A Desolation Now mind is clear As a cloudless sky. Time then to make a Home in wilderness. What have I done but Wander with my eyes In the trees? So I Will build: wife, Family, and seek For neighbors. Or I Perish of lonesomeness Or want of food or Lightning or the bear (must tame the […]...
- Midnight The stars are soft as flowers, and as near; The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun; No separate leaf or single blade is here- All blend to one. No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light Rolls lazily. and slips again to rest. There is no edged thing in all this night, Save in […]...
- The Daughter Goes To Camp In the taxi alone, home from the airport, I could not believe you were gone. My palm kept Creeping over the smooth plastic To find your strong meaty little hand and Squeeze it, find your narrow thigh in the Noble ribbing of the corduroy, Straight and regular as anything in nature, to Find the slack […]...
- Incident Of The French Camp I. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind. II. Just as perhaps he mused ”My plans ”That soar, to earth […]...
- Dream-Forest Where sunshine flecks the green, Through towering woods my way Goes winding all the day. Scant are the flowers that bloom Beneath the bosky screen And cage of golden gloom. Few are the birds that call, Shrill-voiced and seldom seen. Where silence masters all, And light my footsteps fall, The whispering runnels only With blazing […]...
- Midnight Speak to me, aching heart: what Ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself Weeping in the dark garage With your sack of garbage: it is not your job To take out the garbage, it is your job To empty the dishwasher. You are showing off Again, Exactly as you did in childhood where Is your […]...
- The House Of Dust: Part 01: 07: Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers The golden lights go out. . . The yellow windows darken, the shades are drawn, In thousands of rooms we sleep, we await the dawn, We lie face down, we dream, We cry aloud with terror, half rise, or seem To stare at the ceiling or walls. […]...
- On Your Midnight Pallet Lying On your midnight pallet lying, Listen, and undo the door: Lads that waste the light in sighing In the dark should sigh no more; Night should ease a lover’s sorrow; Therefore, since I go to-morrow, Pity me before. In the land to which I travel, The far dwelling, let me say Once, if here the […]...
- Dream Song 111: I miss him. When I get back to camp I miss him. When I get back to camp I’ll dig him up. Well, he can prop & watch, Can’t he, pink or blue, And I will talk to him. I miss him. Slams, Grand or any, aren’t for the tundra much. One face-card will do. It’s marvellous how four sit down—beyond My thought how […]...
- The Sea said "Come" to the Brook The Sea said “Come” to the Brook The Brook said “Let me grow” The Sea said “Then you will be a Sea I want a Brook Come now”! The Sea said “Go” to the Sea The Sea said “I am he You cherished” “Learned Waters Wisdom is stale to Me”...
- Have you got a Brook in your little heart Have you got a Brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there, And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there Why, look out for the little brook in […]...
- The Birds begun at Four o'clock The Birds begun at Four o’clock Their period for Dawn A Music numerous as space But neighboring as Noon I could not count their Force Their Voices did expend As Brook by Brook bestows itself To multiply the Pond. Their Witnesses were not Except occasional man In homely industry arrayed To overtake the Morn Nor […]...
- AT MIDNIGHT HOUR [Goethe relates that a remarkable situation He was in one bright moonlight night led to the composition of this Sweet song, which was “the dearer to him because he could not say Whence it came and whither it would.”] AT midnight hour I went, not willingly, A little, little boy, yon churchyard past, To Father […]...
- The brook I looked in the brook and saw a face – Heigh-ho, but a child was I! There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it […]...
- A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston Until tonight they were separate specialties, Different stories, the best of their own worst. Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy’s Laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first Story. Someday, I promised her, I’ll be someone Going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum School for proper girls. The next […]...
- 382. Song-I'll meet thee on the Lea Rig WHEN o’er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrow’d field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn, where birken buds Wi’ dew are hangin clear, my jo, I’ll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. At midnight hour, in […]...
- The Gardener IV: Ah Me Ah me, why did they build my House by the road to the market Town? They moor their laden boats near My trees. They come and go and wander at Their will. I sit and watch them; my time Wears on. Turn them away I cannot. And Thus my days pass by. Night and day […]...
- John Evereldown “Where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are you going, John Evereldown? There’s never the sign of a star in sight, Nor a lamp that’s nearer than Tilbury Town. Why do you stare as a dead man might? Where are you pointing away from the light? And where are you going to-night, to-night, Where are […]...