English poem
Moment Musicale
by Bliss Carman
The round moon hangs above the rim Of silent and soft-shadowed trees, And all the earth is fey and dim In a blue veil of mysteries.
On such a night one must believe The Golden Age returns again With lyric beauty, to retrieve The joyance we have lost in vain.
And down the wooded aisles, behold, What dancers through the dusk appear! Piping their ardor as of old, They bring immortal rapture near.
A moment on the brink of night They tread their transport in the dew, And to the rhythm of their delight Old sorceries are made anew.