Page:National Lyrics.pdf/89



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 gaze of crowds your beauty veiling, Keep in dim vestal urns the sweetness shrined; Till the mild moon, on high serenely sailing, Looks on you tenderly and sadly kind.