From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,
Where they swung in their cobweb-hammocks high,
And rock’d about in the evening breeze;
Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—
They had driven him out by elfin power,
And, pillow’d on plumes of his rainbow breast,
Had slumber’d there till the charmed hour;
Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,
With glittering ising-stars inlaid;
And some had open’d the four-o’clock,