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.
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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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