Summer Night Poem by Edward Rowland Sill

FROM the warm garden in the summer night
All faintest odors came: the tuberose white
Glimmered in its dark bed, and many a bloom
Invisibly breathed spices on the gloom.
It stirred a trouble in the man's dull heart,
A vexing, mute unrest: 'Now what thou art,
Tell me!' he said in anger. Something sighed,
'I am the poor ghost of a ghost that died
In years gone by.' And he recalled of old
A passion dead—long dead, even then—that came
And haunted many a night like this, the same
In their dim hush above the fragrant mould
And glimmering flowers, and troubled all his breast.
'Rest!' then he cried; 'perturbëd spirit, rest!'