Poem by Clinton Scollard

Midnight

The world is locked in sleep with perfect night.
Gazing from out my window I behold
The moon, a burnished bowl of gleaming gold,
Hung in mid-sky with azure wine brimmed bright.
The sentinel church-spire lifts its stately height,
And, where the vane upon its crest is bold,
A single wanderer from the starry fold
Shines cold and spectral with its twinkling light.

White are the roofs, in crystal garments all;
Unheard the murmuring streamlet's rhythmic flow—
Weird shapes upon the spotless waste of snow,
The tree trunks stand where their gaunt shadows fall.
Blest hour of rest—gift of a hand Divine!
What quiet, peace, tranquillity are thine!

1. Kilmelchedor
2. Summer by the Sea
3. Carrowmore
4. The Wind of Mourne
5. Off Connemara

Dorothy Parker Midnight ("The stars are soft as flowers, and as near")

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