Stealing around us on a moonlight eve,
When winds are hushed in sleep, and clouds the heavens leave.
And when, at that most heart-ensnaring time,
With thee I gaze upon the huge old man
Reigning in yon pale center-light of rhyme,
Or in the heavens the path of Venus scan,
Or fancy from the spheres the distant chime
Of evening bells—I will not say that then
Strange feelings come not o’er me, soft and solemn,
Producing—tears, perhaps, and poetry by the volume.