Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/128

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She bent in passionate idolatry Before her heart's sole idol—!

II.

'Tis night again—a soft and summer night;— A deep-blue heaven, white clouds, moon and starlight;— So calm, so beautiful, that human eye Might weep to look on such a tranquil sky:— A night just formed for Hope's first dream of bliss, Or for Love's yet more perfect happiness! The moon is o'er a grove of cypress trees, Weeping, like mourners, in the plaining breeze; Echoing the music of a rill, whose song Glided so sweetly, but so sad, along.