The fountain falls in sweetly wavering rushes;
The flower beneath the west wind's kiss bends slow;
Delight from each to every thing outgushes;
Grape-clusters beckon; peaches luring glow,
And hide half in their leaves, up-swelling luscious;
The air, which aromatic odours streak,
Drinks up the glow upon my burning cheek.

Hear I not echoing footfalls
Hither adown the pleach'd walk?
No; the over-ripened fruit falls,
Heavy-swollen, from off its stalk!

Day's flaming eye at last is quenched quite;
In gentle death its colours all are paling;
Now boldly open in the fair twilight
The cups which in his blaze had long been quailing;
Slow lifts the moon her visage calmly bright;
Into great masses molten, earth sinks failing;
From every charm the zone drops unaware,
And shrouded beauty dawns upon me bare.

Yonder I see a white shimmer--
Silky--of robe or of shawl?
No; it is the column's glimmer
'Gainst the clipt yews' gloomy wall!

O longing heart, no more thyself befool,
Flouted by Fancy's loveliness unreal!
The empty arm no burning heart will cool,