That mortal agony of love?
The autumn moon slept bright and still
On fading wood and purple hill;
The vintager had hush’d his lay,
The fisher shunn’d the blaze of day,
And silence, o’er each green recess,
Brooded in misty sultriness.
But soon a low and measured sound
Broke on the deep repose around;
From Lindheim’s tower a glancing oar