As in the silence the clear moonlight drips...

As in the silence the clear moonlight drips

Among the fields that love her drowsily,

These passionate moments trickle on through time,

From soul to languorous soul.

Like mad musicians upon fretted harps,

The senses play upon the poignant nerves,—

And colours clothe our mood

As smoke against the light, as shimmering prisms

Irised with pallors of an opal's heart

In which the glittered pattern of desire

Smoulders and changes....

O love, thou nightingale-throated singer,

Thread on thy jewelled chords from start to star

And keep thy silver delicate delight

Out of the flush and lustre that makes mad.

Let thy fairy feet

Go tripping down a scarcely scented path,

Between an avenue of breathless flowers.

The hours glide by as swans across a lake,

Across the luminous waters of desire,

And beat as wings the rustle of soft words,

As love bends down,

Breathing his adoration on a fainting mouth.