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The Night Is Still
By Edith Matilda Thomas

The night is still, the moon looks kind,
    The dew hangs jewels in the heath,
An ivy climbs across thy blind,
    And throws a light and misty wreath.

The dew hangs jewels in the heath,
    Buds bloom for which the bee has pined;
I haste along, I quicker breathe,
    The night is still, the moon looks kind.

Buds bloom for which the bee has pined,
    The primrose slips its jealous sheath,
As up the flower-watched path I wind
    And come thy window-ledge beneath.

The primrose slips its jealous sheath,—
    Then open wide that churlish blind,
And kiss me through the ivy wreath!
    The night is still, the moon looks kind.

--------

Quickie, was Skyping with our kids who are hanging out at Daniel's apartment in Seattle before Adam goes to the airport to return to College Park from an interview about a summer internship (he won't know anything for a few weeks at the soonest). My day was uneventful, work and laundry, a walk with deer in the woods, a short shopping trip in the early evening, half-watching the Vikings-Saints and Broncos-Chargers game while doing various things on the computer. Have a duck!

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