James Russell Lowell

Midnight

The moon shines white and silent
 On the mist, which, like a tide
Of some enchanted ocean,
 O’er the wide marsh doth glide,
Spreading its ghost-like billows
 Silently far and wide.
 
A vague and starry magic
 Makes all things mysteries,
And lures the earth’s dumb spirit
 Up to the longing skies:
I seem to hear dim whispers,
 And tremulous replies.
 
The fireflies o’er the meadow
 In pulses come and go;
The elm-trees’ heavy shadow
 Weighs on the grass below;
And faintly from the distance
 The dreaming cock doth crow.
 
All things look strange and mystic,
 The very bushes swell
And take wild shapes and motions,
 As if beneath a spell;
They seem not the same lilacs
 From childhood known so well.
 
The snow of deepest silence
 O’er everything doth fall,
So beautiful and quiet,
 And yet so like a pall;
As if all life were ended,
 And rest were come to all.
 
O wild and wondrous midnight,
 There is a might in thee
To make the charmed body
 Almost like spirit be,
And give it some faint glimpses
 Of immortality!
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