The night is an ancient sorceress,
The silent, azure night,
Whose fairy fingers sweep my brow
And hide the world from sight.

She shuts mine eyes in slumber deep,
And wakes my heart in glee.
Her wings of white, as soft as silk,
Enfold me lovingly.

The dear green holiday is here,
The air is pure, fresh-blown;
And every little grass-blade
Wears a jewel all its own.