Whose perfect tones move on the sombre Deep
With a grave gesture, and sigh into a sleep,
George, where your hands, along the piano straying,
An intricate rhythm keep.
And all the room is starry with your dreaming,
And limitless and vague. O the white square
Of the window-pane shimmers behind you there,
Framing the street, where the first lights are gleaming,
Transfigured now and fair!
Now, while the heaven of night grows vast above her,