Was still as the rose on a dead man’s breast.
On velvet hoof the doe and fawn went by;
In other woods the lark and linnet sang;
A stealthy way was taken by the fox;
The badger trod upon the softest moss;
And like a shadow flitted past the hare.
Without a sound the haunted fountain played.
The oak boughs dreamed; the pine was motionless;
Its silver arms the beech in silence spread;
The poplar had forgot its lullaby.