The moon declines in lonely gold

Among the stars of ashen-grey—

Veiling the pallors of decay

With clouds and glories, fold on fold.

Within a crystal interlude,

Stillness and twilight rest awhile

Ere the bright snows, illumined, smile,

From peaks where sullen purples brood;

And from the low Favonian bourn,

A light wind blows so dulcetly

It seems the futile silver sigh

Breathed by the lingering moon forlorn.