Classic Poem

Still , still you linger,
A bright bird in sleep's thicket,
While baying winds like hunting hounds
Through the forest sweep:
Still, still you dream,
As the moon dreams in a river,
Filling with your radiance
The shadowy stream of sleep.

The hunting-winds are sleeping now,
The moon has vanished
Like a flimsy weft of white mist,
Has flown to streams afar:
The trees shake off their dusky dreams,
Birds sing and fountains shimmer,
Wake, oh, wake,
My Morning Star!