STARLIGHT.

The evening star will twinkle presently.

The last small bird is silent, and the bee

Has gone into his hive, and the shut flowers

Are bending as if sleeping on the stem,

And all sweet living things are slumbering

In the deep hush of nature's resting time.

The faded West looks deep, as if its blue

Were searchable, and even as I look,

The twilight hath stole over it, and made

Its liquid eye apparent, and above

To the far-stretching zenith, and around,

As if they waited on her like a queen,

Have stole out the innumerable stars

To twinkle like intelligence in heaven.

Is it not beautiful, my fair Adel?

Fit for the young affections to come out

And bathe in like an element! How well

The night is made for tenderness — so still

That the low whisper, scarcely audible,

Is heard like music, and so deeply pure

That the fond thought is chastened as it springs

And on the lip made holy. I have won

Thy heart, my gentle girl! but it hath been

When that soft eye was on me, and the love

I told beneath the evening influence

Shall be as constant as its gentle star.