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 tranquil¹ night as this

    She woke Endymion with a kiss

    When sleeping in the grove²

    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 boughs³ whose shadows deep

    Are Life's oblivion the soul's sleep

    And kisses the closed eyes

    Of him who slumbering⁴ lies.

    O weary hearts！ O slumbering eyes！

    O drooping⁵ souls whose destinies

    Are fraught⁶ with fear and pain

    Ye shall be loved again！

    No one is so accursed by fate

    No one so utterly⁷ desolate⁸

    But some heart though unknown

    Responds unto his own.

    Responds —as if with unseen wings

    An angel touched its quivering strings⁹；

    And whispers in its song

    Where hast thou stayed so long？

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