  I saw a silver-bright shield hang Entangled in the topmost boughs Of an old elm-tree, and a house Dreaming; the while a small stream sang A tune of broken silver by, And laughed and wondered at the sky. A thousand thousand silver lamps Dared the bright moon of stars. O! who, Wandering that silver quiet through, Might heed the river-mists, dew-damps? All Heaven exulted, but Earth lay Breathless and tranced in peace alway. From the orange-windowed tavern near A song some ancient lover had— When stars and longing made him mad— Fashioned from wonder at his dear, Rang out. Yet none there moves a limb To see such stars as passioned him. The loth moon left the twigs and gazed Full-fronted at the road, the stream, That all but tiniest tunes adream Stilled, held breath at last amazed. The farmers from their revel came; But no stars saw, and felt no flame. |
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