Iii

Along lone paths the cricket cries, Where Night distils dim scent and dew; One mad star 'thwart the heaven flies, A glittering curve of molten blue; Now grows the big moon in the skies; The stars are faint and few.

Sweet Night, the vows Of love long taken, Against thy brows Lay their pale brows, Till thy soul is shaken Of amorous dreams that make it awaken.