No Eve Of Summer Ever Can Attain The Gladness Of That Eve Of Late July, When 'Mid The Roses, Filled With Musk And Rain, Against The Wondrous Topaz Of The Sky, I Met You, Leaning On The Pasture Bars, - While Heaven And Earth Grew Conscious Of The Stars. No Night Of Blackest Winter Can Repeat The Bitterness Of That December Night, When At Your Gate, Gray-Glittering With Sleet, Within The Glimmering Square Of Window-Light, We Parted, - Long You Clung Unto My Arm, - While Heaven And Earth Surrendered To The Storm.