The Tryst

At dusk there fell a shower: The leaves were dripping yet: Each fern and rain-weighed flower Around was gleaming wet, When, through the evening glower, His feet towards her were set.

The dust’s damp odor sifted Around him, cool with rain, Mixed with the musk that drifted From woodland and from plain, Where white her garden lifted Its pickets down the lane.

And there she stood! ’mid scattered Clove-pink and pea and whorl Of honeysuckle,--flattered To sweetness wild,--a girl, O’er whom the clouds hung shattered In moonlit peaks of pearl.

She made the night completer For him; and earth and air, In that small spot, far sweeter Than heaven or anywhere.-- Swift were his lips to greet her, Her lips love lifted there.