Tag Archives: summer nights

“Summer Night”


by: Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

HOW sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;

Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;

Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:

The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,

And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,

And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves

A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,

And slips into the bosom of the lake:

So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip

Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Why Tennyson?  Because I was watching Anne of Green Gables (is she not adorable?) and Anne was quoting him.  I read his version of a summer night after recently trying to express my summer night thoughts and I wonder how on earth I shall ever be able to express, or communicate what I wish to say with such dripping clarity, such thought-provoking imagery?  Woe is me.

Quotes from Anne Shirley~

Mrs. Cadbury: Tell me what you know about yourself.

Anne Shirley: Well, it really isn’t worth telling, Mrs. Cadbury… but if you let me tell you what I IMAGINE about myself you’d find it a lot more interesting.

{ Anne Shirley: Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it. }

Diana Barry: I wish I were rich, and I could spend the whole summer at a hotel, eating ice cream and chicken salad.

Anne Shirley: You know something, Diana? We are rich. We have sixteen years to our credit, and we both have wonderful imaginations. We should be as happy as queens.

[gestures to the setting sun]

Anne Shirley: Look at that. You couldn’t enjoy its loveliness more if you had ropes of diamonds.

Diana Barry: I don’t know about that.

Summer Nights

And the backyard is still, quiet, save for the slight rustling of green  leaves and the sound of the pond, water spilling over rocks.  The heat of the day has evaporated and the solar lights lining the garden paths twinkle as best they can.  Christmas lights in full-leafed trees cast romantic, dancing shadows. 

The backyard is magic tonight, I think to myself.

I am wondering what this absolutely perfect tempertaure is, this moment of complete faultlessness?  The hour is blue*, for the sun is barely dropped.  A cricket crowns the evening with his song for love.  Neighbor’s homes glow softly and the stars appear to bid me well, one by one.

In that moment I miss everyone I love and wish each could share this perfectly ripe moment of utter sublimity with me.  Sigh.  I am a melancholy soul, yes?

A summer night in Brighton, Colorado

Last night was just one of those nights.  Aaaahh, mmm…I love summer.

*L’heure Bleue…I wrote about it here.