In its own moonlight beauty! Yet around,
Something, amidst the dewy calm profound,
Broods, never mark’d before!
Is it the brooding night?
Is it the shivery creeping on the air,
That makes the home so tranquil and so fair,
O’erwhelming to my sight?
All solemnised it seems,
And still’d, and darken’d in each time-worn hue,
Since the rich, clustering roses met my view,