How soft this moonlight of the South!
How sweet my South in soft moonlight!
I want to kiss her warm sweet mouth
As she lies sleeping here to-night.
How still! I do not hear a mouse.
I see some bursting buds appear;
I hear God in His garden,--hear
Him trim some flowers for His house.
I hear some singing stars; the mouth
Of my vast river sings and sings,
And pipes on reeds of pleasant things,--
Of splendid promise for my South:
My great South-woman, soon to rise
And tiptoe up and loose her hair;
Tiptoe, and take from all the skies
God's stars and glorious moon to wear!