II. IN THE TEMPLE.

THE grey and misty night,

Slim trees that hold the night among

Their branches, and, along

The vague Embankment, light on light.

The sudden, racing lights!

I can just hear, distinct, aloof,

The gaily clattering hoof

Beating the rhythm of festive nights.

The gardens to the weeping moon

Sigh back the breath of tears.

O the refrain of years on years

‘ Neath the weeping moon!