Classic Poem

No lovelier song was ever heard
Than the notes of the Southern Mocking-Bird
When leaf and blossom are wet with dew
And the wind breathes low the long night through.
O music for grief! It comes like a song
From a voice in the stars; and all night long
The notes flow. But you must live in the South,
Where the clear moon kisses with large cool mouth
The land she loves, in the secret of night,
To hear such music—the soul-delight
Of the Moon-Loved Land.

When gentle twilight softly closes
The door of day, and the sun-fed roses
Lavishly sweeten the air, you will hear
That wonderful song—now low—now clear—
Till the silvery moon flushed red goes down
On silent country and sleeping town.
O the lovers are fond in the groves of the South
When the large moon kisses with grand sweet mouth
The land she loves; and love has romance
And is more than vow and wedding and dance
In the Moon-Loved Land.