North And South

Of the North I wove a dream, All bespangled with the gleam Of the glancing wings of swallows Dipping ripples in a stream, That, like a tide of wine, Wound through lands of shade and shine Where purple grapes hung bursting on the vine. And where orchard-boughs were bent Till their tawny fruitage blent With the golden wake that marked the Way the happy reapers went; Where the dawn died into noon As the May-mists into June, And the dusk fell like a sweet face in a swoon. Of the South I dreamed: And there Came a vision clear and fair As the marvelous enchantments Of the mirage of the air; And I saw the bayou-trees, With their lavish draperies, Hang heavy o'er the moon-washed cypress-knees. Peering from lush fens of rice, I beheld the Negro's eyes, Lit with that old superstition Death itself can not disguise; And I saw the palm tree nod Like an oriental god, And the cotton froth and bubble from the pod, And I dreamed that North and South, With a sigh of dew and drouth, Blew each unto the other The salute of lip and mouth; And I wakened, awed and thrilled-- Every doubting murmur stilled In the silence of the dream I found fulfilled.