I

When, one by one, the stars have trembled through Eve’s shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire-- As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew Orbs its bright beads;--and, one by one, the choir Of insects wakes on nodding bush and brier: Then through the woods--where wandering winds pursue A ceaseless whisper--like an eery lyre Struck in the Erl-king’s halls, where ghosts and dreams Hold revelry, your goblin music screams, Shivering and strange as some strange thought come true.