THE RISING moon has hid the stars;

Her level rays like golden bars

Lie on the landscape green

With shadows brown between.

And silver the river gleams

As if Diana in her dreams

Had dropt her silver bow

Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this

She woke Endymion with a kiss

When sleeping in the grove

He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian’s kiss unasked unsought

Love gives itself but is not bought;

Nor voice nor sound betrays

Its deep impassioned gaze.

It comes —the beautiful the free

The crown of all humanity —

In silence and alone

To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs whose shadows deep

Are Life’s oblivion the soul’s sleep

And kisses the closed eyes

Of him who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!

O drooping souls whose destinies

Are fraught with fear and pain

Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate

No one so utterly desolate

But some heart though unknown

Responds unto his own.

Responds —as if with unseen wings

An angel touched its quivering strings;

And whispers in its song

Where hast thou stayed so long?