NOCTURN.

I walk, I only,

Not I only wake;

Nothing is, this sweet night,

But doth couch and wake

For its love's sake;

Everything, this sweet night,

Couches with its mate.

For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sun

Is the naked moon

Tremulous and elate?

The heaven hath the earth

Its own and all apart;

The hush-ed pool holdeth

A star to its heart.

You may think the rose sleepeth,

But though she folded is,

The wind doubts her sleeping;

Not all the rose sleeps,

But smiles in her sweet heart

For crafty bliss.

The wind lieth with the rose,

And when he stirs, she stirs in her repose:

The wind hath the rose,

And the rose her kiss.

Ah, mouth of me!

Is it then that this

Seemeth much to thee?—

I wander only.

The rose hath her kiss.