Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/64



Deep with mystery is the night, when the round moon sails high the seas above the earth and subtle spirits of the dark swirl through the narrow ways.

The placid river shines like a polished mirror. All the world is hushed save for the rustle of a bird among the rushes at the water's edge or the distant chanting of priests within the ghostly temples.

Somewhere in the city, a dog howls; where a lamp still casts a flickering glow from a window, a woman's laughter tinkles; from the house tops, the plash of falling water mingles with a low song of gladness

But when the moon sinks toward the west, a warm wind blows from the desert, the leaves of the palms rustle and whisper among themselves, and a long, vague sigh sweeps out to meet the rising sun.