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Updated: May 6, 2025
Spread, purple blossoms, round us, in a sphere; Twin, lattice-boughs, the mystery enhancing; Love's joy would die, if more than two were here She shuns the daybeam indiscreetly glancing. Eve's star alone no envious tell-tale she Gazes unblamed, from far across the sea. Hark! distant voices, that lightly Ripple the silence deep! No; the swans that, circling nightly, Through the silver waters sweep.
The dreary night for, oh, how dreary seems its haunted waste, behind us! gives place to a fresh, transparent, cloudless morn. Blessed, blessed radiance! The daybeam even what little of it finds its way into this always dusky parlor seems part of the universal benediction, annulling evil, and rendering all goodness possible, and happiness attainable. Will Judge Pyncheon now rise up from his chair?
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