Night

I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the crickets' drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . . .

I have minded me Of the slim marsh-grasses That the winds at twilight, Dying, scarcely ripple. . . .

And I cannot sleep.

I have minded me Of a lily-pond, Where the waters sway All the moonlit leaves And the curled long stems. . . .

And I cannot sleep.