Slowly the sunset fades;
Night's shadows fall;
The pale moon glimmers thro' the shades
About the poplars tall;
The river's waves amid the reeds
Like wan grey serpents crawl.
A hushing wind doth go
In secret, where
The rushes bend with the waves' flow,
And the reeds twist like hair —
Slow stealing, till it takes the ashen boughs
With sudden gusts of air.
Somewhere, a too-late bird
Makes shrilly sound;
Close by, the marish frogs are heard
Upon the weedy ground;
A white owl flits on ghostly wing,
And the bats swarm around.
The quivering planets shine
Through the black night;
They seem to hang like fireflies on
The tree-tops all alight:
The rustling topmost leaves all gleam
With silvery white.
The pale moon grows apace
A warmer hue;
It draws a veil across the face
Of night, which looketh through;
It floods the hills and hidden dells
With misty, yellowy dew.
Like pale gold dew it lies
On half-seen trees;
With broad and yellow sheets it clads
The sloping flowery leas;
Its misty smile in the far skies
Lights up the restless seas.
A hushing wind doth go
In secret, where
The reeds within the river's flow
Wave like long twisted hair,
And dies in silence on the lips
Of lilies lying there.
