Explore "Diya" by Amy Lowell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Look, Dear, how bright the moonlight is to-night! / See where it casts the shadow of that tree / Far out upon the grass. And every gust / Of light night wind comes laden with the scent / Of opening flowers which never bloom by day: / Night-scented stocks, and four-o'clocks, and that / Pale yellow disk, upreared on its tall stalk, / The evening primrose, comrade of the stars.
It seems as though the garden which you love / Were like a swinging censer, its incense / Floating before us as a reverent act / To sanctify and bless our night of love.