In evening's limpid air, What time the moon's sickle, Green, 'twixt the purple-glowings, And jealous, steal'th forth: --Of day the foe, With every step in secret, The rosy garland-hammocks Downsickling, till they've sunken Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:--
Место: ¶3584 Лицензия: Public domain · Источник Текст приведён как в издании, без правок.