The moon was risen, and she sometimes shone
Through thick white clouds, that flew tumultuous on, 560
Passing beneath her with an eagle’s speed,
That her soft light imprisoned and then freed;
The fitful glimmering through the hedge-row green
Gave a strange beauty to the changing scene;
And roaring winds and rushing waters lent
Their mingled voice that to the spirit went.
To these she listen’d; but new sounds were heard,
And sight more startling to her soul appear’d;