With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical and swift—jug, jug!
And one low, piping sound, more sweet than all,
Stirring the air with such a harmony
That, should you close your eyes, you might almost
Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes
Whose dewy leaflets are but half disclosed,
You may, perchance, behold them on the twigs,
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full,
Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade