A nocturne

The Moon has gone to her rest,

A full hour ago.

The Pleiads have found a nest

In the waves below.

Slow, the Hours one by one

In Midnight's footsteps creep.

Lovers who lie alone

Soon wake to weep.

Slow-footed tortoise Hours, will ye not hasten on,

Till from his prison

In the golden East

A new day shall have risen,

And the last stars be gone,

Like guests belated from a bridal feast?

When the long night is done

Then shall ye sleep.