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.