To The Herald Honeysuckle Poem by Emily Pfeiffer

DEEP Honeysuckle! in the silent eve
When wild-rose cups are closed, and when each bird
Is sleeping by its mate, then all unheard,
The dew's soft kiss thy wakeful lips receive.
'Tis then the sighs that throng them seem to weave
A spell whereby the drowsy night is stirred
To fervid meanings, which no fullest word
Of speech or song so sweetly could achieve.

Herald of bliss! whose fragrant trumpet blew
Love's title to our hearts ere love was known,
'Twas well thy flourish told a tale so true,
Well that Love's dazzling presence was foreshown;
Had his descent on us been as the dew
On thee, our rarer sense he had o'erthrown.