Classic Poem

Night, thou art so blest with odours sweet and strong,
Thou rousest idlest fancies in the mind!
All listen unto thee, and I cannot but long
To speak of what I in thy stillness find.

Thine azure vault spreads wide before my wondering eyes,
And all thy golden lights are burning bright;
It is as if thy stars were one great sun that tries
To cast its rays upon my garden's site.

Even the moon, no longer swimming o'er tuft-crowned trees
With placid gaze, seems like thyself to burn,
Though all the while the brook glistens in plashing ease
Beneath the boughs which hide its every turn.

The feeblest noise resounds throughout thee like a blow;
Air whispers, like the strings of a guitar,
So tenderly to thee that all who hear him know
The call to love from lands both near and far.

All Nature seems aroused, in concert to cry out
In speech that will not let our fancies die;
We push the casement open to look on night without,
And trembling try to read the silvery sky.