II. IN THE TEMPLE.

THE grey and misty night, Slim trees that hold the night among Their branches, and, along The vague Embankment, light on light.

The sudden, racing lights! I can just hear, distinct, aloof, The gaily clattering hoof Beating the rhythm of festive nights.

The gardens to the weeping moon Sigh back the breath of tears. O the refrain of years on years 'Neath the weeping moon!