South German night, spread out beneath the moon. And mild as if all fairy tales were there; The hours fall from the steeple in a swoon, As if into some deep and hidden lair.-- A murmur and a rustling round the pond, Then silence hangs but empty in the air; And then a violin (God knows from where) Awakes and says quite tranquilly: A blonde-- | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DIVIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 11 by JAMES JOYCE VOYAGE A L'INFINI by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG THE CHILTERNS by RUPERT BROOKE LOVE-LILY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SLUMBER FAIRIES by KATHARINE LEE BATES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 47 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |