Iii

He enters the garden, speaking dreamily:

There is a fading inward of the day, And all the pansy sunset clasps one star; The twilight acres, eastward, glimmer gray, While all the world to westward smoulders far.

Now to your glass will you pass for the last time? Pass! humming some ballad, I know. Here where I wait it is late and is past time-- Late! and the moments are slow, are slow.

There is a drawing downward of the night; The bridegroom Heaven bends down to kiss the moon: Above, the heights hang silver in her light; Below, the vales stretch purple, deep with June.

There in the dew is it you hiding lawny? You? or a moth in the vines?-- You!--by your hand! where the band twinkles tawny! You!--by your ring, like a glow-worm that shines!