  I said: “What is the use of sombre night?” The Moon replied: “To frame my love-wan face.” A fairy dame said: “That my fresh-wove lace May on the grasses catch the Sun’s first light.” “That we may keep with song our ancient rite,” Croaked glistening frogs from their dank dwelling place. “That I may halt,” a man said, “in my race, And rest my eyes that are grown tired of sight.” Your ebon frame, pale Moon, makes you more fair; Weave, gentle neighbor; frogs, pipe loud your song; Sad traveller, be dreamless sleep your share. And I would have night twenty times as long, And clasp my love in some dark bower where The Day could never come to do us wrong. |
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