Sighs to the lonely hour in accents sweet!
Ah! who the dear illusions pleas’d would yield,
Which Fancy wakes from silence and from shades,
For all the sober forms of Truth reveal’d,
For all the scenes that Day’s bright eye pervades!
IMITATION.
NUIT.
Le crépuscule meurt, la Nuit penche son urne,
Et versant la rosée et l’ombre taciturne,