The evening star goes down behind the temple dome, and the pallor of the
marble landing haunts the dark water.

Belated wayfarers sigh; for light from hidden windows is splintered into
the darkness by intervening wayside trees and bushes. Still that wristlet
tinkles against the water-jar, and retreating steps rustle from down the
lane littered with leaves.

The night deepens, the palace towers loom spectre-like, and the town hums
wearily.

Row no more, but fasten the boat to a tree.

Let me seek rest in this strange land, dimly lying under the stars, where
darkness tingles with the tinkle of a wristlet knocking against a
water-jar.



4


O that I were stored with a secret, like unshed rain in summer clouds--a
secret, folded up in silence, that I could wander away with.

O that I had some one to whisper to, where slow waters lap under trees that
doze in the sun.

The hush this evening seems to expect a footfall, and you ask me for the