A PLEASANT drive in the month of May
To a villa perched upon a hill,
In the purple light of the dying day
When all save the rumbling wheels is still.
A hostess fair on the threshold stands,
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A woman scarce from girlhood past,
With a smiling face and greeting hands,
And a welcome that binds the list'ner fast.
A quiet chat in the moonlight pale,
A song that over the night-air floats, -
An echoing song from a nightingale
That sends the refrain of my lady's notes.
A question asked, and a low reply, -
A thrill of joy that floods the heart.
A violet plucked - a smother'd sigh -
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New Harvard Union.
