I know a room that's dark in daytime hours;
No sunbeams light it,
Whether in months of gloom or months of flowers,
So people slight it.
Yet in the noon of each succeeding night
The moon shines in it,
Goldenly waking dreamers to delight
For a love's minute.
In a dream light, they sigh and burn and kiss
And fall to slumber
Deeply once more. Thus bliss is piled on bliss
In goodly number.
Praise first is giv'n to sunshine and to rooms
Sunbright, with reason.
Yet a wise man should choose a moonlit room
In his blood's season.