And dreams in the scent of her glove or gown;

Hides and beckons as all may note

In the bloom or the bow of a maiden's throat.

17

 She, standing among the flowers:

Soft through the trees the night wind sighs,

And swoons and dies.

Above, the stars hang wanly white;

Here, through the dark,

A drizzled gold, the fireflies

Rain mimic stars in spark on spark.—

'Tis time to part, to say good-night.

Good-night.

From fern to flower the night-moths cross

At drowsy loss.

The moon drifts veiled through clouds of white;

And pearly pale,

A silver blur, through beds of moss,

Their tiny moons the glow-worms trail.—

[Pg 31]

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