Warm, the deserted evening
Closes over the moor.
Was it here we walked and were merry
Only an hour before?
Magic light in the west
Smiles over the moorland swells:
Fairies invisible roam them
Whispering wonderful spells.
They whisper, and all grows strange:
Shadows are over the stream;
The still, gray rocks are a vision,
The solid ground a dream.
Trees murmur, and hush, and tremble;
The west is drained of light.
Earth slumbers beneath silence
And the beautiful eyes of Night.