6Q 



cool dew -scent. How white the jasmine's 

 stars gleam through the dusk ; how ghostly- 

 fair the tall, gold-dusted lilies. The south 

 wind hath sighed him to sleep, drugged with 

 their heavy sweet. Surely Circe herself 

 wrought never enchantment so potent. All 

 the night through he will sleep nor dream, 

 nor stir. 



Now the east brightens glows to flame. 

 Up and up a slow moon swims, a blush upon 

 her, cleaving with silver lances the thick, 

 low, earthy air. What glimmering tall shad- 

 ow streams out over the fields, vague, gro- 

 tesque a very Harlequin of shades, patched 

 here or there or yonder with flares of pale 

 new light. So pale, indeed, you can but 

 barely trace it across the dew-dim grass. 



Swiftly, swiftly it brightens. The shad- 

 ows deepen, shorten, grow sharp of outline. 

 See how the young corn-rows mark moon 

 dials all over their smooth fields. Eleven 

 o' the clock by it the moon stands at quar- 

 ter stars are faint and pale. What light- 

 flood pours through the clear valley, turn- 

 ing all to silver the tall, unrippled grass. 

 Wheatland lies dark to blackness. Its still, 

 deep, heavy-headed verdure is too robust to 

 borrow the moonshine tint. Elder-flowers 

 show spectral in the hedge-rows. Hedge- 



