'Twas a rich night in June. The air was all Fragrance and balm, and the wet leaves were stirred By the soft fingers of the southern wind, And caught the light capriciously, like wings Haunting the greenwood with a silvery sheen. The stars might not be numbered, and the moon Exceeding beautiful, went up in heaven, And took her place in silence, and a hush, Like the deep Sabbath of the night, came down And rested upon nature. I was out With three sweet sisters wandering, and my thoughts Took color of the moonlight, and of them, And I was calm and happy. Their deep tones, Low in the stillness, and by that soft air Melted to reediness, bore out, like song, The language of high feelings, and I felt How excellent is woman when she gives To the fine pulses of her spirit way. One was a noble being, with a brow Ample and pure, and on it her black hair Was parted, like a raven's wing on snow. Her tone was low and sweet, and in her smile You read intense affections. Her moist eye Had a most rare benignity; her mouth, Bland and unshadowed sweetness; and her face Was full of that mild dignity that gives A holiness to woman. She was one Whose virtues blossom daily, and pour out A fragrance upon all who in her path Have a blest fellowship. I longed to be Her brother, that her hand might lie upon My forehead, and her gentle voice allay The fever that is at my heart sometimes.