Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer

STAND here with me. The throngs dissolve away.

The sunset fades. A single star grows bright.

The moon as purely sheds her balm of light

Through these cliff-corridors as on the bay

Pure-spread beyond them. Sea-breeze murmurs say,

Not all of time is pledged for gain, the night

Means sleeping even here, and in despite

Of gold and greed will dawn a Sabbath-day.

There is no peace like this, the deep repose

Of citadels of haggard restlessness.

Prairie and mountain-top and twilit snows

Breathe of the benison of silence less

Than these tired streets, dazed with the noise of men,

When the calm darkness bids them rest again.