Crestless the meek Selene grew;
The fettered dew her jewels held,
When the September eves were eld.
When the September eves were eld,
Fled were the scenes we erst beheld—
Reft were the tender scenes we knew;—
The desert, where the beeches grew!
Yet, Belle, we sweeter secrets held,
Ere the September eves were eld!