Slowly the sunset fades;
⁠Night's shadows fall;
The pale moon glimmers thro' the shades
About the poplars tall;
The river's waves amid the reeds
⁠Like wan grey serpents crawl.

A hushing wind doth go
⁠In secret, where
The rushes bend with the waves' flow,
And the reeds twist like hair —
Slow stealing, till it takes the ashen boughs
⁠With sudden gusts of air.

Somewhere, a too-late bird
⁠Makes shrilly sound;
Close by, the marish frogs are heard
Upon the weedy ground;
A white owl flits on ghostly wing,
⁠And the bats swarm around.

The quivering planets shine
⁠Through the black night;
They seem to hang like fireflies on
The tree-tops all alight:
The rustling topmost leaves all gleam
⁠With silvery white.

The pale moon grows apace
⁠A warmer hue;
It draws a veil across the face
Of night, which looketh through;
It floods the hills and hidden dells
⁠With misty, yellowy dew.

Like pale gold dew it lies
⁠On half-seen trees;
With broad and yellow sheets it clads
The sloping flowery leas;
Its misty smile in the far skies
⁠Lights up the restless seas.

A hushing wind doth go
⁠In secret, where
The reeds within the river's flow
Wave like long twisted hair,
And dies in silence on the lips
⁠Of lilies lying there.