Classic Poem

Down arboured ways of dewy verdure dense in shade
Lies Night — the Sorceress — her sultry heart laid bare —
Within her bosom calm what secrets she conceals!
Hiding the dead who walk — the loveless who despair.

Echo and Silence sleep; the fountain's monotone
Accents the melancholy pause — alone entwines
Her passive cadence with the hush, save for light breath
Of Zephyr's fitful whispering beneath the vines.

The velvet-footed moth steals on from lure to lure —
Noiseless as fragile moonbeams lace and interlace;
Dreaming, the pointed pines reach out their dusky arms
To draw the gardens deeper into their embrace.

While wide immensity is peaceful slumbering
Bathed in nocturnal stupors, somnolence possessed,
For bright delirium of day at last consoled,
What lyric trouble is it stirs within the breast?

Did some dawn-haunted bird in salutation break —
Or some less distant star yearn to earth's loveliness
Across the marge of space?

Now fragrance infinite
The sense enamours — oh, passion's hour, passionless!
On wakeful wing widespread, unlingering, alas!
The Unknown Eros shadows the moon-drenched grass.