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？