The Naiad smiled in glad repose,
While twilight’s blush with hue of rose
Glowed tremblingly upon her breast.
The Cupids, bound while day-beams crown
The gazing sky, are loosed and rove
With bow and arrows up and down
Upon the moon-beams in the grove,—
The darksome green triumphal gate
Which spring had entered through of late.
From dripping oaks the nightingale