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.