To the moonlight-tangled vales;

Swish of rain on half-blown roses

Hoarding close their rich perfume,

Which the summer dawn uncloses

Sparkling in their morning bloom;

Convent peals o'er pastoral meadows,

Swinging through hay-scented air

[56]

When the velvet-footed shadows

Call the hind to evening prayer.

Yea, all notes of woods and highlands;

Sea-fowls' screech round sphinx-like islands

Couched among the Hebrides;

Cuckoo calls through April showers,

When the green fields froth with flowers

And with bloom the orchard trees.

Boom of surges with their hollow

Refluent shock from cave to cave,

As the maddening spring tides follow

Moonstruck reeling wave o'er wave.

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