Of moonlight come and go,
And all is hushed to rest
Upon Sleep’s quiet breast,
All save the human heart, that sighing waketh still —
The heart, that never sleeping —
Its lonely vigil keeping —
Findeth still naught on earth its depths to fill.
Thou art like Sleep, oh, Night!
Thou hast a thrilling power,
To awe, e’en with thy loveliest things,