V

Ah, now an end to thy inveterate tale! The silence melts from the mid spheres of heaven; Enough! before this peace has time to fail From out my soul, or yon white cloud has driven Up the moon’s path I turn, and I will rest Once more with summer in my heart. Farewell! Shut are the wild-rose cups; no moth’s awhirr; My room will be moon-silvered from the west For one more hour; thy note shall be a burr To tease out thought and catch the slumbrous spell.