Bianca Among The Nightingales

The cypress stood up like a church

That night we felt our love would hold,

And saintly moonlight seemed to search

And wash the whole world clean as gold;

The olives crystallized the vales

Broad slopes until the hills grew strong:

The fireflies and the nightingales

Throbbed each to either, flame and song.

The nightingales, the nightingales.

Upon the angle of its shade

The cypress stood, self-balanced high;

Half up, half down, as double-made,

Along the ground, against the sky.

And we, too! from such soul-height went

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