Page:Felicia Hemans in The Court Magazine Volume III 1833.pdf/4



of night! unfolding meekly, slowly, To the sweet breathings of the shadowy hours, When dark-blue heavens look softest and most holy, And glow-worm light is in the forest bowers;

Ye, from the crowd your vestal beauty turning, Keep in dim urns the precious odour shrined, Till steps are hush'd and faithful stars are burning, And the moon's eye looks down, serenely kind;

Shut from the sounds wherein the day rejoices, To no triumphant song your petals thrill; But yield their fragrance with the faint sweet voices Rising from hidden founts when all is still,