Perfumed the forest’s deep defiles.
The mournful sister Pleiades
Arose from oriental seas;
Lyra no more, as once, in old,
Shook harmony from her harp of gold.
Silence, like God, was every where:
There was no sound in earth or air:
An omnipresent quietude
Reposed on field and flood and wood.
Serenely calm, the waning moon