Encinctured with a twine of leaves, That leafy twine his only dress, A lovely Boy was plucking fruits, By moonlight, in a wilderness. The moon was bright, the air was free, And fruits and flowers together grew On many a shrub and many a tree: And all put on a gentle hue, Hanging in the shadowy air Like a picture rich and rare. It was a climate where, they say, The night is more beloved than day. But who that beauteous Boy beguiled, That beauteous Boy to linger here? Alone, by night, a little child, In place so silent and so wild-- Has he no friend, no loving mother near? |