III.
Is there aught can exceed the splendor
Of the lake in the moonlight clear,
When mirrored therein are the stately palms
And the pagoda's fantastic tier.
No sound breaks the exquisite silence but the call of
the white-faced owl,
Or the cry of the distant jackal as he goes on his nightly prowl.
IV.
There flits past a shadowy form,
But no sound is heard on the midnight air;
'Tis a recluse going to pay his vows in the white-domed temple near,
And when the first blush of dawn doth color the Eastern sky
The watchman calleth the faithful to prayer,
With his solemn mysterious cry.
V.
And now hath the night departed,
With its silence and shadows deep,
And the weary, toiling worker hath waked from his dreamless sleep,
For the sun now reigns in the heavens, filling the world with light,
And with its first beams we say farewell,
Farewell to the dreams of night.
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I.