Just when the red sun took his leave—
When the coy moon, with half hid face,
Peeped o’er the eastern hills afar,
With here and there a radiant star;
When twilight came, with sober mien,
And silence brooded o’er the scene—
Thither the maid would often stray,
Humming, may be, a laughing lay,
That told true love was all untrue,
And made of nothing great ado;