J. A. Blaikie

“ Ever the best, beneath noon's ripened skies,
O Spirit and Heart that me imparadise!
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Westward each nightfall
When white lies the dew,
Where the stream makes a bright fall
Of moon-rays for you ”

“ Where the gossamers fly, to the sun's gold clinging,
My sweeting, my darling, my One!
Into the gold and the sun.
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Unbreathing Noon, the hour of love's dominion,
Falls now, as yesterday, as 'twill to-morrow;
Soft as the amorous dove's uplifted pinion,
Sweet as the fair first sleep of new-born sorrow.
There s not the least small stir on yonder wall
Of grass or fern; hushed is the torrent's throat
Within the dark ravine, and in yon oak
The woodpecker his many-sounding stroke
Has stayed; the windless air bears not one note
To vex the dreaming air this noontide fall. ”