Poem by Amy Lowell

At Night

The wind is singing through the trees to-night,
A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences
And crashing intervals.  No summer breeze
Is this, though hot July is at its height,
Gone is her gentler music; with delight
She listens to this booming like the seas,
These elemental, loud necessities
Which call to her to answer their swift might.
Above the tossing trees shines down a star,
Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy
Quickens nor dims its splendour.  And my mind,
O Star! is filled with your white light, from far,
So suffer me this one night to enjoy
The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.

1. Reaping
2. Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H.
3. Red Slippers
4. Frankincense and Myrrh
5. Storm-Racked

Alice Meynell At Night ("Home, home from the horizon far and clear")

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