First published online on 2010 January 08.
The rising moon has hid the stars,
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.
And silver white 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 dreamd not of her love.
Like Dians kiss, unaskd, unsought
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassiond gaze.
It comesthe beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the bows, whose shadows deep
Are Lifes oblivion, the souls 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 its own.
Respondsas if, with unseen wings,
A breath from heaven had touchd its strings;
And whispers, in its song,
Where hast thou stayd so long?
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