Page:The Yellow Book - 13.djvu/187

Rh Westward each nightfall When white lies the dew, Where the stream makes a bright fall Of moon-rays for you; While the night wind goes sighing Over crag, over hollow, Like a ghostly replying To the snowy owl s crying, I the white waters follow; With lips still sweet from sweet lips kist, Like a spirit I pass O'er the gleaming grass Into the moon and the mist.