There is a drawing downward of the night;
The bridegroom Heaven bends down to kiss the moon;
Above, the heights hang silver in her light;
Below, the woods stretch purple, deep in June.
There in the dew is it you hiding lawny?
You, or a moth in the vines?—
You!—by your hand, where the band twinkles tawny!
You!—by your ring, like a glowworm, that shines!
4
She approaches, laughing. She speaks,—
You'd given up hope?
HE
Believe me.
SHE
Why, is your love so poor?