The warm wind comes in rushes,
The night is thick and sweet:
I cannot see the bushes—
The tall syringa bushes
Above the gate that meet,
Whose fallen blooms she crushes
Under her heedless feet;
But their heavy, rich perfume
Is round us in the gloom
Which lends its friendly cover
To bashful maid and lover:
Which cheats me of her blushes
But makes her kiss complete.
'Way down the village street
A lantern swings and dances
In front of the old church porch,
And throws its telltale glances
On the puddles and the plashes,
And flares in the wind like a torch,
And scatters sudden flashes
On the elm leaves overhead.
But you need have no dread
Of that harmless, far-off spark;
For the night is thick and dark,
O the dark is thick and sweet!
So, closer: let the beat
Of your heart encounter mine.
(How you tremble—like a leaf!)
O you do not need to fear
Any shame or any grief
While my arms around you twine
And the night wind pours its wine.
Come nearer, still more near;
Press closer, closer yet.
Your cheeks are warm and wet,
Like this wind from out the south,
And warm and wet your mouth;
And yon lantern won't discover
The maiden and her lover.
'Tis only the sexton, nothing more—
There was a funeral to-day—
The sexton locking the church door,
Locking it up and going away.
Why should it fall on a day like this?
What has death to do in a world of bliss?
O passionate black night!
O rush of the southern breeze,
Laden with blossoms and rain,
Asserter of life and its right,
Cherisher, breeder of things,
Swelling the sap in the trees,
Swelling the blood in the vein,
Filling the rivers and springs:
Whisper the girl at my side,
Quicken her pulse with thy breath,
Teach her the way of a bride,
Teach her to take and to give.
What hast thou to do with us, Death?
By God, we live!