WHO loves not night? when through the violet-hued, O'erarching heavens, the starry multitude, As through an opening curtain, smiling peep, Like radiant eyes awakened from sweet sleep, And gaze on earth, to holy quiet wooed With the merle's music, in far solitude Shrouded invisible, and the incense-boon Which, as in tribute to the young Queen Moon, Slow sailing in her silvery, curved canoe O'er the hill-tops, upon a sea of blue, From rocky shelves, green nooks, with beauteous face Meekly upturned, the adoring flowery race Pour from their perfumed chalices, and win, For every dew-drop treasured up therein, The benison of her smile, whose light may make The crystal trembler to new beauty wake. II. Who does not love the night? that e'er has been A pilgrim in the valley of CALDENE, When the blue cope, with all its radiancy Of moon and stars, hung like a canopy prop some gorgeous temple's fretted roof; And, as he sate beneath the boughs' green woof, Entranced with witchery of scene and sound, Deemed he were dwelling on enchanted ground. |