Shadows spread their wings;

Silently the breeze-bell rings.

The stars put a silver riband round night's tresses,

The light fades like a receding song

As fall soundless sounds from Nature's

moon-gong.

[55]

[55]

47

The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror,

The moon;

Golden her face

Reflecting the cool sweet glory of a

Baby sun

When dangling

His short golden arms in the cradle of the sky

After night

Gave him birth,

And herself died as day dies to see the moon,

This golden

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