  Idles the night wind through the dreaming firs, That waking murmur low, As some lost melody returning stirs The love of long ago; And through the far, cool distance, zephyr fanned, The moon is sinking into shadow land. The troubled night-bird, calling plaintively, Wanders on restless wing; The cedars, chanting vespers to the sea, Await its answering, That comes in wash of waves along the strand, The while the moon slips into shadow-land, O! soft responsive voices of the night I join your minstrelsy, And call across the fading silver light As something calls to me; I may not all your meaning understand, But I have touched your soul in shadow-land. |
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