Last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
Within my window, spread upon my bed,
And, with her old-time splendor, asked of me
To share her harvest supper. I arose,
And stepped without to pay my greetings. When, Behold!
The old world flowered again, as it had done
When I was twenty, at the gate of life;
The meadows held untouched their virgin bloom,
The darkling trees with gleaming leaves flashed bright,
Dewy and pendant till the waiting morn;